


What to Wish For When I Dream the Day Away

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Bottom!Peter, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Crossdressing, Crossdressing!Dan Picah, Developing Relationship, Fire, Firefighters, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Near Death, Pride Parade, opposite of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:33:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 63,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal Caffrey, one of NYC's most sought-after chefs, is brought back from the edge of death and rescued from a fire by veteran firefighter Peter Burke. The connection between them is instantaneous, and a relationship soon develops. There's just one problem - Peter doesn't date guys who are in the closet, and Neal's boss (a man to whom he's indebted) is one of the city's staunchest homophobes.</p><p>Written for National Coming Out Day 2015. Come for the Peter/Neal sweetness, stay for crossdressing fire marshal, Dan Picah. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What to Wish For When I Dream the Day Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/gifts).
  * Inspired by [What to Wish For When I Dream the Day Away - Art Post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981693) by [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/pseuds/Kanarek13). 



> This fic has literally been a year (and a day) in the making. On October 10, 2014, kanarek13 sent me a manip of Neal leaning out the window of a burning building - cue most epic plot bunny! We had no idea when we started throwing around ideas just how big this would become (both in word count and pieces of art) or how long it would take.
> 
> I have to thank kanarek profusely, not only for the absolutely beautiful art, but for sticking with me through my snail's pace writing, changing jobs, cranking out two other fics and a fanvid while writing this one, etc. Thank you soooo much, my friend - you are a true blessing! <3
> 
> Warning: Please read the tags - there are homophobic themes and a vague mention of racism in this fic, as well as a hate crime (past) that resulted in the death of a canon character (one who also died in canon, just not in this manner). That said, this is a story about love and acceptance, both of self and others. 
> 
> [FireFLAG](http://www.fireflag.org/) is a real group for LGBT members of the FDNY, though it's used as a fictional character for purposes of this story. I can only hope I’ve done them justice.
> 
> Video: [It Gets Better - FDNY](https://youtu.be/LViB1zEE1TA)

Neal Caffrey sat at his desk, poring over the latest list of possible menu additions. He’d already put in twelve hours in the kitchen because the film crew for the Food Network special had been there, and after they left, he’d just barely managed to get the supply order submitted on time. It had already been a long week, and the frenetic pace was clearly catching up to him. He was having a hard time concentrating on the words in front of him, which were blurring in a way that meant he just needed sleep and not bifocals.

He’d gotten through the four course, but the last few dinner menu additions were eluding him. He fought the temptation to lay his head down on the desk and stood instead, stretching up on the tips of his toes and rolling his shoulders.

A glance out the window of his fourth-floor office only served to remind Neal that, while he was stuck trying to decide between smoked trout with an orange reduction or langoustine with braised chanterelle, the rest of the city was going about its collective late night business. They had no idea how much time, stress, and pride went into the menu at Enigma, but they happily paid several hundred dollars for the privilege of sampling his choices.

Forcing back a yawn, Neal sat down and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. Though he knew Adler favored the trout, he was leaning heavily toward the langoustine dish. Of their various seafood offerings, only one other was shellfish-based, and it was shrimp. If someone really wanted shrimp, there were at least seven or eight different shrimp dishes at the Merry Dragon a few blocks away, and all of them were under twenty bucks. Enigma diners were paying to get a classy and unique meal, and Neal had always taken pride in his ability to provide that.

Nodding to himself, he typed the choice into the open file on his laptop, saved it, and then stared hard at the rest of the list. He needed to submit it to Adler before the end of business the next day, and he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance to finish it, considering that the television crew would be back for another round of filming.

“Neal!” A familiar voice called to him from the hallway, and Neal couldn’t help smiling in spite of his weariness. As expected, Mozzie – his longtime friend and co-worker – strolled into the office without waiting for an invitation. “Why are you still here?”

“Come on in, Moz,” Neal muttered. “Adler wants to finalize the summer menu, so I’ve got to get this done by tomorrow evening.”

“Ah, tomorrow.” Mozzie sat down across the desk from Neal and leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “By tomorrow evening, I’ll be eating puttanesca and sipping Leonetti Merlot at Dundee.”

“Yeah, rub it in.” While Neal would be stuck with at least one more day of dealing with the film crew in the kitchen, Enigma’s sommelier was flying off to a three-day weekend of sampling wines in the Willamette Valley. And he hadn’t missed a single opportunity to remind Neal of that fact all week.

“What? You know I’d take you along if I could. It’s boring going by myself, and we both know you’re the world’s best wingman. Better than a puppy, even.”

Neal closed his eyes and shook his head. It was a running joke between them; Neal, who turned the head of every woman he passed, didn’t want any of them anyway. He reeled them in, and then Mozzie turned on the charm – or his version of it, anyway. Most didn’t stick around once they realized that Neal wasn’t interested, but it had actually worked in Mozzie’s favor a few times. As a result, he was more than happy to let Neal tag along.

“Yeah, too bad you’re not.”

“Ow.” Mozzie pressed a hand to his chest. “That’s harsh, _mon frère_.”

“Sorry, Moz.” Neal opened his eyes and, though he knew the older man was joking, gave him an apologetic look anyway. It was a bit of a sore spot for Neal, knowing he could help Mozzie in the relationship department, while he himself wouldn’t be able to have a serious one of his own until he got out from under Vincent Adler’s thumb. Adler, easily one of the city’s staunchest homophobes, wouldn’t hesitate to ruin Neal’s life and career if he found out about Neal’s sexuality.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as Neal just leaving and finding another job. He owed Vincent Adler; if not for him, Neal wouldn’t have made it through culinary school, wouldn’t have become the executive chef at one of the city’s most popular restaurants, and would likely have very few of the things he had in life.

Neal had a passion for cooking from the time he was old enough to start helping his mother in the kitchen, and he had the talent to match. As he grew, it came to be like an artistic outlet for him, creating and experimenting, and enjoying the praise from his parents that came along with his finished masterpieces.

That all changed the day an aortic dissection stole the life of the man who’d been the anchor of the family. At twelve years old, Neal had never even heard of an aortic dissection, but he knew what those words really meant. They meant that his beloved father was gone forever, and that he and his mother had to move from their cozy home into a tiny one-bedroom apartment with a perpetually filthy kitchen and an oven that set off the smoke detector every time he tried to use it. They meant sleeping on a sofa that still smelled like his dad’s cologne and trying desperately not to cry when his mom was home and eating food that came packaged in white boxes with black print. They meant watching his dreams of going to culinary school disappear, swept away by the endless river of bills and taxes and debt and grief.

As soon as Neal turned sixteen, he’d gotten a job bussing tables at a local bistro. It didn’t take them long to realize he belonged in the kitchen, a change which had come with a pay increase, but it still wasn’t much. Most of the money he made went toward the rent and bills. At a time in his life when he was supposed to be preparing for college, saving for a higher education was out of the question.

And then Vincent Adler had come into their lives. The man had already been on his way to becoming one of the most successful restaurateurs in New York, yet he’d somehow fallen for the struggling widow he’d met at the bakery. It didn’t matter that he’d been searching for the perfect focaccia while she’d been browsing the days-old discount bin for something special to go with the leftovers Neal was sneaking home from work. They’d bumped into each other on their way to the checkout, and apologies turned into small talk about bread and food and his restaurant and her talented son.

They’d exchanged numbers, and a few dates turned into a relationship, then eventually into an informal commitment. Though they’d never gotten married, Vincent Adler had let Neal and his mother move into his high-rise penthouse, and he’d given Neal a job in his restaurant. By the time Neal graduated from high school, Adler had been willing to pay for his education, as long as Neal would continue to work for him.

He’d gotten degrees in culinary arts and management from the Culinary Institute of America, and Adler immediately brought him into his newest restaurant, Enigma, as a chef de partie. And just when the future was looking bright for Neal once again, life threw him the cruelest of curve balls in the form of a yellow cab that mowed down his mother as she was crossing the street to go visit a friend.

Her death devastated Neal. Not only did it leave him parentless, but it also left him hopelessly indebted to Vincent Adler. Though the man had rescued them from poverty, Neal could never bring himself to think of him as a father figure. And one of the biggest reasons was that Adler was a shameless homophobe – one who had no idea that Ali Caffrey’s son, his prized future executive chef, was unequivocally gay. 

Outside of the other deeply closeted guys with whom he’d had secret relationships in college, Neal’s mother was the only one who’d known. Though Neal had always been attracted to men, he’d dated girls in high school, so Adler never suspected. But one evening during his junior year at CIA, after listening to Adler calmly explain over Sunday dinner that Matthew Shepard (or, as Adler called him, _“that vile little faggot”_ ) deserved exactly what he got, Neal couldn’t take it anymore. 

His mother had found him hunched over the toilet in the upstairs bathroom, and the food – a meal _he’d_ cooked for them – tasted like shame and abhorrence and _sin_ coming back up. After washing up and making sure that Adler was sufficiently absorbed in the Golf Channel, Neal had locked them in his old bedroom and confessed to his mother that he was gay.

While the shock kept her from being as accepting as he had hoped, she’d at least been understanding. After a long pause during which a whole range of emotions flitted across her face, she’d squeezed his hands in hers and told him that if he was sure of the life he’d chosen for himself, they’d figure it out. She promised to try to convince Adler to be a little more tolerant – without telling him that Neal was gay. Then once Neal graduated and worked for him for a few years, she’d persuade Adler to let him branch out, maybe start his own restaurant. _“Then you can distance yourself from him,”_ she’d said, _“and you won’t have to put up with his…issues.”_

He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that it wasn’t something he’d chosen and that he wasn’t ashamed of who he was. Just knowing she’d help with Adler was such a relief that he simply broke down. He may have been twenty-one years old and had just confessed that he was exactly what Vincent Adler loathed, but she was still his mother, and she’d held him as he quietly sobbed.

Less than two years later, she was dead. And without an ally, Neal was forced even deeper into the closet. He’d still managed to date, both during college and when Adler sent him to specialty schools (some of them out of the country), but none of those relationships had lasted more than a few months. 

And now, at thirty years old, he was still in the same situation. Still working for Vincent Adler, still in the closet, and still with only one ally. Mozzie had started working at Enigma shortly after Neal did. It hadn’t taken them long to become close friends, and though they’d never discussed it outright back then, Neal quickly realized that Mozzie knew he was gay – and was fine with it.

“Neal?” Mozzie’s voice startled Neal out of his reverie. The older man was regarding him with narrowed eyes and a suspicious tilt of his head. “You didn’t learn how to sleep with your eyes open, did you? Because that’s even freaky to _me_.”

Neal huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “No. But I might get to that point before I’m done here.”

“Clearly.” Mozzie paused a moment, almost looking as if he was setting up for a lecture. When Neal raised his eyebrows expectantly, Moz just shrugged. “Well, I should get going. I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow morning. And probably a date with jet lag after I get to Oregon.”

“Yeah. Have a safe trip, Moz.”

Mozzie frowned at him. “Well, that’s a little out of my control, isn’t it?” When Neal gave him a frustrated look, Mozzie held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m going.” He walked to the doorway and stopped, turning to give Neal a long look. “Hey, Neal? Don’t burn so much of the midnight oil that you set the place on fire. Get some rest.”

Neal gave him a small but grateful smile. “Yeah, I hear you. Thanks.”

With a quick nod, Mozzie disappeared through the door, shutting it behind him. For a second or two, Neal had a sudden feeling of total isolation followed by the certainty that something bad was going to happen. He briefly considered going after Mozzie and telling him to take a different flight, but the premonition passed as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him feeling a little silly.

It did convince him, though, that if he was going to finish the menu, he needed to get some rest first. Neal moved his laptop aside and pushed himself away from the desk just far enough to prop his feet up on it. He’d changed from his uniform into a suit for the interview portion of the Food Network feature, and he pulled the pocket square from his jacket, draping it over his eyes to block out the light before crossing his arms over his chest. He’d become an expert at taking quick catnaps over the years; this time would be no different. With a long sigh, he closed his eyes and, as expected, quickly drifted off to sleep.

_Drowning._

_He was drowning. He had no idea how he’d gotten there, but it really didn’t matter at that point. He looked around, trying to make out anything in the murky water. There was a faint glimmer of light above him, and he tried to swim toward it, but there was something holding him back. Though he couldn’t see anything, he kicked and thrashed in a desperate attempt to free himself. His lungs screamed in agony as he struggled to hold his breath._

_“Neal.”_

_The booming voice cut through the panic, and Neal froze. It sounded like it came from below him – and from inside his head at the same time. He shivered, and in spite of the fact that he was getting lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, he risked a glance down toward his feet._

_At first, he saw nothing. Just blackness, thick and pervasive. But then a faint light surrounded his feet, and he could make out fingers, gray and spindly, wrapped around his ankles. He tried to kick at them, but he was getting weaker, his arms now too heavy to lift._

_Just as he was certain he would pass out, the hands around his ankles gave a sharp downward tug, and he suddenly found himself staring into the eyes of Vincent Adler, wide and filled with a spectral amber glow._

_“You will never be free –”_

Neal awoke with a gasp, nearly tipping the chair over backward as he tried to get his feet back on the floor. There was something on his eyes, and he was short of breath. He brushed the fabric from his face before falling to his knees on the floor behind the desk. 

He still couldn’t breathe. There was a gray haze in the air, thick and acrid-smelling, and it tore at his already aching lungs and throat. He became aware of a light mist falling on him, surreal and out-of-place in the confines of his office. Beyond the frantic hammering of his pulse in his ears, there was a faint klaxon-like noise that sounded like it was coming from a lower floor.

Somehow, even as his head swam, Neal managed to get his feet under him and stumbled in what he thought was the direction of the door. It seemed to take forever, hands scrabbling frantically over the walls, before he finally found the handle and wrapped his fingers around it. It wasn’t until then, as the warmth spread through his fingers, that all of the pieces fell into place.

_Fire._

Neal yanked his hand away from the door handle with a gasp, which sent him into a coughing fit as the smoke filled his lungs. The knowledge that had been drilled into his mind from the time he was a kid – don’t open the door if it’s hot, stay low, find another way out – came flooding back, and he dropped to the floor once again. His ‘other way out’ was the window opposite the door, though opening it would mean standing up. Still, if there was fire on the other side of the door, the window was likely his only chance for escape. He took a second to get his bearings and then crawled in that direction, fighting to catch his breath and keep the panic at bay. 

After taking as deep a breath as he could manage, Neal pulled himself up and fumbled with the window latch. His hands were trembling, but he somehow got it to work and slid the window up. 

What greeted him was a terrifying scene of utter chaos.

The street was full of floodlights and fire apparatus, light bars flashing red and white, casting an eerie glow on the clouds of smoke billowing around them. He could barely make out some firefighters in full turnout gear, training hoses on the building below him. Neal glanced down and immediately wished he hadn’t. There were flames shooting out the windows below him and licking up the side of the building. The elaborate awning that had stood over the entrance to the restaurant – or what was left of it – was charred black and hanging in a sad, soggy frown across the sidewalk.

Neal leaned out the window in an attempt to get some fresh air, though he knew it was mostly futile. The fire below him was sending clouds of acrid smoke in his direction. It stung his eyes and burned his lungs, and he could feel the heat from the flames washing over him in hellish waves.

“Hey!” A voice cut through the commotion, and Neal squinted in that direction, trying to find the source. “Hey, there’s a guy up there! There’s someone in there!”

Neal still couldn’t see much, but he had the sense that the activity on the ground around the trucks had increased. He waved his arms and tried to take a deep enough breath to yell for help, but the heat and smoke stole the air from his lungs.

That was when he finally started to panic. For the first time since he’d awakened to the fire, Neal began to think he might not get out. His legs started to shake, and he vaguely realized he was hyperventilating. He slipped out of his jacket and loosened his tie, but it did little to rid him of the constricted feeling. His brain started to center on a single thought: _I can’t breathe. I’m going to die._

“Hey, hang on, man! We’re on our way!”

Neal tried to spot the source of the voice through the smoke, but the lack of air had already narrowed his field of vision. An especially nasty coughing fit nearly brought him to his knees, and he clung to the windowsill, trying to keep himself upright. Though he could barely make it out, a platform mounted on one of the fire engines seemed to be moving in his direction, and he tried to focus on them, knowing they were coming to rescue him. His heart pleaded with his brain to let him keep them in sight. If he could see them, he could be sure they knew where he was and that they were on their way.

“Stay there! Stay by the window!”

Without warning, Neal’s legs gave out, and his vision went nearly black. He was still breathing, but only barely, smothering under the heavy blanket of smoke that filled the room. His lungs had completely given up on trying to expel the noxious smoke that had invaded them. Even as his body crumpled to the floor below the window and his field of view narrowed into tiny pinpoints, he felt an otherworldly calm fall over him, and he wondered if it might be his parents coming to get him.

The thought brought him an unexpected sort of peace, and he closed his eyes against the scorching smoke and the fire and the panic. He didn’t want to give up, but his body and brain were no longer able to deal with the lack of oxygen. He couldn’t stand, could barely feel his extremities, didn’t even have the energy left to hold his eyelids open and watch for his rescuers.

The darkness behind Neal’s eyelids became something else, something much deeper. He was suddenly aware that the only sound he could hear was a ringing in his ears, not harsh but vaguely pleasant, like a tuning fork. There was a distant flicker of light in the blackness, like a buoy bobbing in the ocean. He began to feel like he was floating, detached, and the tone in his ears gave way to the sound of his pulse. It was slow and beautiful and lulled him into a place of such ethereal peace.

And he was smothering. 

Neal was yanked out of the serenity by a feeling of fullness in his chest. He couldn’t exhale, and there was something pressing against his lips, warm and forceful. He tried to gasp, but his lungs protested painfully.

“Breathe.” A voice, deep and steady, cut through the panic. “Come on, buddy.” 

It hurt to breathe – even just _thinking_ about breathing hurt – but something in the other man’s voice compelled him to try. He took a tentative breath, and though it was painful, the taste of charred air was mostly gone. He became aware of something on his face, covering his nose and mouth, but his arms were too heavy to push it away.

“That’s it. Breathe.” Something rubbed at his chest, and Neal’s body responded by inhaling and exhaling once again. “Hey, can you open your eyes for me?”

There was something so right, so comforting about that voice. Neal’s eyelids were heavy, but he struggled to open them anyway. He thought if he could do what that voice was telling him to do, he might be okay. He might survive.

Using what little energy he could muster, Neal somehow managed to open his eyes. Before he could get a good look at his surroundings, his narrow field of vision was filled with…

…the face of an angel. 

There were lines of worry etched into those features, ashy black smudges on his forehead and cheek, a pair of brown eyes clouded with concern. Yet in that moment, Neal was certain he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life.

He understood that he hadn’t died, that he was back in his smoke-filled office, but Neal still wasn’t sure exactly what was going on – or why this gorgeous face was so close to his own.

“There you are,” the other man said, relief smoothing some of the lines in his forehead. Neal tried to focus on him. He wanted to reply, but when he tried to take a deep enough breath to speak, his lungs seized and he started coughing. Strong hands gripped him and rolled him to his side just in time for him to gag and vomit up something vile. When he’d finished, those same hands rolled him back and put what he finally realized was an oxygen mask on his face.

“Easy, don’t try to talk.” Neal squinted up at the man looming over him, clad in turnout gear and surrounded by a smoky haze. The other man coughed into his shoulder, then fixed Neal with a determined look. “We need to get out of here – now. I’m going to put you in a Stokes basket and take you out through the window. I won’t lie, it won’t be very comfortable, but I need you to try to stay calm, okay?”

Neal managed to give him a weak nod, and the man sprang into action. He secured the mask over Neal’s nose and mouth, then pulled something up beside him and lifted Neal into it as if he was weightless. As the man strapped him in, Neal drifted, still fighting just to breathe and stay conscious.

“Cap, get out of there now!” The voice, coming from just outside the window, was so loud that, even in his current state, Neal couldn’t miss it. “It’s jumping floors, and we’ve got interior collapse on one!”

“Okay, let’s do it.” The firefighter started to lift the end of the basket as if it was nothing, and another pair of hands joined him from the window. As they lifted him out through the opening, Neal was overcome by an odd floating sensation that left him even more breathless. The basket came to a stop, metal scraping on metal. “Clip him on.” That comforting voice was now soft and raspy, and the words had barely left the other man’s mouth when he started coughing.

“Hey, Cap, you okay?”

“Yeah, Jones. Let’s get him down.” Once again, that face came into Neal’s field of vision above the mask. “I know this feels strange, but just try to hang in there. We’ll get you down soon, get you to the hospital.”

Neal started to nod, but then they began moving, and he couldn’t help gasping at the sudden sensation that the world was dropping out from under him. “It’s okay.” A gloved hand reached around the straps and gave Neal’s fingers a brief squeeze. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

Though he believed the other man’s words, Neal’s head had begun to clear just enough for the panic to return. He started to shiver, and his eyes watered from a combination of the smoke and the fear. A half-cough, half-sob escaped his lips, muffled by the mask.

“No, hey, you’re safe now, buddy. We’re almost there.” This time, warm bare fingers wrapped around Neal’s own and didn’t let go. Neal nodded, and though he didn’t want to lose sight of the other man’s reassuring gaze, a wave of dizziness and exhaustion hit him hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and, as one of the firefighters laid something warm and heavy over his body, he gave in and let the darkness take him away.

\-------------

The next time Neal became fully aware of his surroundings, there was sunlight streaming in through the window of his hospital room. There were vague memories of things that had happened through the night – of Mozzie’s voice, and maybe Adler’s, and of so many tests that he lost track of them – but he hadn’t been awake long enough to truly remember what happened.

There was something on Neal’s face, in his nose, draped over his ears. He slowly reached for it, but warm fingers wrapped around his, and his mind flashed to a memory he couldn’t quite place.

_…you’re safe now…_

“No, no. Leave it there, Neal. Don’t pull it out.”

A face came into view, and for some odd reason, Neal almost expected to see a pair of intense brown eyes. Instead, they were blue and bespectacled and set in a very familiar round face.

“Moz.” The single syllable, though only a whisper, set off a coughing fit that was brief but painful. 

“Spit it out,” Mozzie said, holding a little pink basin in front of his mouth. It felt indelicate and a little embarrassing, but Neal got rid of what he’d coughed up, spitting it into the basin. Mozzie cringed as he put the basin back on the bedside table, then gave him a sympathetic look. “They want to make sure you can get rid of that crap on your own before they’ll let you out of here.”

Neal nodded, reaching up to wipe his mouth with the back of the hand that didn’t have an IV in it. His chest ached, and he rubbed absently at it. A thought occurred to him, and he gave Mozzie a curious look.

“Oregon?” he mouthed, not wanting to risk speaking again.

“Oh, yeah, like I’d go now.” Mozzie rolled his eyes. “You’re my best friend, and you’re in the hospital. Besides, it’s not like we technically have jobs. The head monkey in charge said he’ll find places for us in his other fine establishments, but Enigma’s gone.”

_Gone._

That word, and everything that came with it, hit Neal so hard that it stole his breath. At least he could blame the coughing for the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes and wet the skin there. His heart broke as he thought of the memories, the hard work, the fun and the friendships, the regular customers, everything they’d put into the place. Cutting the ribbon with Adler and hanging the portrait of his mother where everyone could see it, his friendship with Mozzie, the pride he felt when A-list celebrities made return visits, seeing his name on the Food Network with “Executive Chef, Enigma” printed under it.

He felt Mozzie squeeze his shoulder, heard him saying something that might have involved getting a doctor, but it was drowned out by his hacking. It didn’t take long for a nurse to arrive, and she shooed Mozzie out of the room before giving Neal a nebulizer treatment. By the time his breathing was finally under control, his emotions were as well. 

As the nurse gave him some water and helped him get settled again, a man came into the room and checked Neal’s chart. He spoke briefly to the nurse before she left, then came around the bed to stand near where Mozzie had been sitting and gave Neal a reassuring smile.

“Mr. Caffrey, I’m Dr. Consantino. It’s good to see you awake and alert this time. Outside of the obvious, how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Neal rasped. When that didn’t set off another coughing fit, he decided to risk speaking again. “Chest and throat hurt. And my head.”

“That’s to be expected, but we’ll give you something to help make you more comfortable.”

“How…how long will I be here?” 

“Sick of us already?” The doctor raised an eyebrow at him, but before Neal could respond, he smiled. “We’d like to keep you here for observation until tomorrow. If you’re doing as well then as you are now, we’ll release you with some antibiotics and something to help you breathe until your lungs have recovered fully.”

Neal gave him a skeptical look. “This is doing well?”

“Yes, you were actually very fortunate. You were found in respiratory arrest. The firefighter who found you resuscitated you, then administered oxygen at the scene. Had he not acted so quickly – well, let’s just say it’s a very good thing that he knew what he was doing.”

Neal nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge that he’d come so close to death. He glanced away and closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to something warm pressed against his lips, a beautiful soot-streaked face, bare fingers wrapping around his own.

“You’ll be fine, Mr. Caffrey.” The doctor’s voice brought Neal back, but the memory of his rescuer was still there at the front of his mind. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes.

“Do – do you know his name?”

“The firefighter?” When Neal again nodded, the doctor gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t divulge that information.”

Puzzled, Neal opened his mouth, then closed it again. He turned this bit of information over in his brain. If the doctor couldn’t tell him…

“So he’s a patient here? The firefighter, I mean.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Caffrey, I can’t tell you that.” Dr. Consantino gave him a meaningful stare. “Just a suggestion – you may find what you’re looking for by consulting, well…other sources.” He nodded in the direction of the TV. “I’ll check back in with you in a few hours. In the meantime, get some rest, and page the nurse if you need anything.” With a little nod, the doctor turned to leave but stopped just before he reached the door. “Channel ten at noon,” he said, then disappeared through the door.

Mozzie hurried in, glancing back over his shoulder before returning to his seat beside Neal’s bed. “What was that all about? Channel ten?”

“I was asking him about the guy who saved me.” Neal tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn.

“You sound a lot better.” Mozzie looked relieved as he laid a hand on Neal’s shoulder.

“Nebulizer helped. They gave me something to drink, too.” 

“Ah. So what did you want to know? I can go eavesdrop if you want.”

Neal pushed himself up, eyes wide. “Wait, so he _is_ here?”

“The fireman who saved you? Yeah, he’s down at the other end of the hall. Must be popular or something. I’ve never seen so many hose jockeys in one place in my life.”

Neal gaped at Mozzie, trying to keep his pulse from racing enough to set off the monitor over his shoulder. “He – he’s a patient? What happened to him?”

“If I was psychic, _mon frère_ , I’d buy a lottery ticket.” Mozzie rolled his eyes. “I’d just go down and ask, but they probably wouldn’t give me the time of day. And unlike you, I don’t think I could ply them with wine. They look like the kind of guys who prefer very cheap, very skunky beer.”

Neal frowned, rubbing absently at a pain in his chest that wasn’t caused by all of the smoke he’d inhaled. The need to meet his rescuer, to see those eyes and that face again, was so strong that tears pricked the backs of his eyes. He closed them and turned his head to the side.

Mozzie squeezed his shoulder. “You look like you could use a nap. I’ll let you get some rest, and I’ll tell the head monkey not to stop in until this afternoon. He was here last night, but you were probably too out of it to remember.”

Neal indeed didn’t remember Adler’s visit, other than a vague recollection of hearing his voice sometime in the night. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Moz, can you come back in time to wake me for the news at noon?”

“Of course.” Mozzie stood and straightened Neal’s covers. When he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically soft and a little rough around the edges. “I’m glad you’re going to be okay, Neal. When I heard that you –” He stopped abruptly, and Neal could hear him breathe deeply through his nose. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

“Thanks, Moz.” 

Mozzie didn’t respond, but he squeezed Neal’s foot on the way by. Neal waited until his friend was out of the room before trying to curl up on his side, being careful of the IV line and the pulse oximeter on his finger. He was used to being strong, but learning that he’d nearly died and that the restaurant was a total loss had left his emotions especially raw.

And though he was desperate to find out more about his rescuer, the man behind that angel’s face, Neal was too exhausted to do anything about it for the time being. He closed his eyes and let the memory of that face carry him away.

\-------------

“Hey! You made the front page of the _Daily News_.” Mozzie breezed into the room around fifteen minutes before noon, waving the paper at Neal after noticing he was awake. Neal had actually gotten some rest, but the nurse woke him shortly before Mozzie’s arrival to check his breathing and get him out of bed. Thanks to the fluids, he’d actually been desperate for a bathroom visit by then, and the nurse seemed to be satisfied that he was able to walk there and back without any issues, outside of a minor dizzy spell when he sat up.

“Oh, joy.” Neal smirked at him but took the paper anyway. Sure enough, there was a large photo of him leaning out of his office window, flames licking at the walls around him. _Hero Firefighter Saves a Man in a Daring Rescue Attempt_ , the headline proclaimed. “How in the world did they get that picture?”

“Fire buffs. They listen to the scanners, then chase the fire engines and take pictures and videos. It’s a whole…thing. Not that I’d know anything about it.”

Neal heard Mozzie’s reply, but his attention had been drawn to the lower right corner of the page. Right there, in full color, was a photo of Neal’s ‘hero firefighter’ in his dress uniform. Neal could only stare, mesmerized by those eyes and that ruggedly handsome face. He ran a thumb over the corner of the photo, and a chill ran through him.

“I don’t like that picture,” Mozzie said softly.

“Are you kidding?” Neal murmured, eyes never moving from the photo. “He’s beautiful.”

Mozzie huffed and poked a finger at the larger photo. “The picture of _you_ , Neal. I don’t like knowing you were trapped there with the flames that close. I should’ve tried harder to talk you into going home.”

“I’m fine, Moz.”

“Yeah, but you almost _weren’t_.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Neal finally pulled his gaze away from the paper to give Mozzie a admonishing glare, but it disappeared as soon as he saw the deep regret in the other man’s eyes. “Look, Moz, it wasn’t your fault. As far as we know, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

Mozzie watched him closely for a moment before tactfully changing the subject. “Did I hear you right? Did you call that hose jockey ‘beautiful?’”

Neal ignored the question and countered with a couple of his own. “Have you read this yet? Who is he?” He flipped to the third page and started skimming the article. 

“No, I haven’t read it. I picked it up on the way here. Elizabeth Mitchell’s doing a story on the fire on the noon news. I’m sure she’ll be able to tell you more than I can.”

Neal nodded absently as his eyes focused on a name that wasn’t his own. _Peter Burke_. The article told him that the man who’d saved his life was the captain of Ladder Company 65, was a highly-decorated career firefighter, and that he’d made some sort of gutsy jump from one of the fire engines to the window of Neal’s office in order to get to him. There was also another photo of the restaurant burning, and a photo that looked like it may have been taken immediately after his rescue. He tried to follow the details in the article, but his eyes kept coming back to the photo of Peter Burke in his dress blues, which they’d included with the article as well as on the front page.

 _Peter Burke_.

“Neal?” Mozzie thumped him on the leg, and Neal reluctantly pulled his attention away from the article. “Hey, have you even heard a word I’ve been saying?”

“Hmm? Yeah, um, Elizabeth Mitchell’s doing a story…” He trailed off and gave Mozzie a sheepish shrug.

“That’s what I thought.” Mozzie reached out and took the paper from him. He folded it and put it on the table beside Neal’s bed, and Neal forced himself to look at his friend instead of the paper. “I was saying that I talked to Adler earlier, and he said that Enigma is a total loss. He’ll be in to talk to you later this afternoon about where we go from here. He was feeling so overwhelmingly generous that he gave us the rest of the week and the weekend off.” Mozzie rolled his eyes. “But we’re supposed to report to his office at Antiquity on Monday for a briefing. Well, _I_ am – and he wants me to bring you along if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Okay.” It was all Neal could manage. It seemed so final, writing Enigma off and moving on to one of Adler’s other restaurants. He knew it would take a while to wrap his mind around the idea, but he just couldn’t bring himself to even start trying. He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms over them, suddenly feeling very small and insecure.

“I know it’s tough, _mon frère_.” Mozzie laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll miss it, too. We built that place up, made it ours. Made it the best.” He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed beside Neal. “But the important thing is, you’re going to be okay. Everything else is just…stuff.”

“Yeah.” Neal worried the edge of the sheet between his fingers and tried to breathe evenly, warring with his emotions yet again. They sat there in silence as the minutes passed, but they didn’t need to speak. Each was taking comfort from the other’s presence, as was their way.

“Hey,” Mozzie finally said, reaching for the remote connected to Neal’s bed. “It’s time. You sure you want to watch this?”

Neal wasn’t sure, not at all, but he found himself nodding anyway. Mozzie turned up the volume, and News 10’s familiar lead-in played. Neal couldn’t watch at first, simply listening as the anchor introduced their top story, the fire that destroyed Enigma. He finally looked up when they went to Elizabeth Mitchell at the scene, and he almost wished he hadn’t.

“ _Thanks, Andrew. I’m standing in front of what remains of Enigma, the iconic eatery that was the flagship of the Adler Restaurant Group. A fire late last night destroyed much of the establishment, which has been declared a total loss. I spoke to the owner, Vincent Adler, this morning, and he said that he’s already planning to rebuild._ ”

They ran a brief clip of Adler telling El Mitchell that Enigma would rise from the ashes, that he did have insurance, and that he planned to let the displaced employees work in his other restaurants. Neal barely heard a word he said. He stared at the screen, at the footage of the gutted restaurant, and he started to tremble. Mozzie, who was similarly shaken, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled Neal against him.

“ _The fire started after the restaurant had closed for the night, and at first, emergency personnel on the scene believed the building was unoccupied. It was soon discovered, however, that Enigma’s executive chef, Neal Caffrey, was trapped in his fourth-floor office. When firefighters tried to rescue him, they ran into some trouble of their own in the form of a malfunctioning ladder truck. That’s when one of the firefighters, as you’ll see in this exclusive video submitted by a News Ten viewer, pulled off a courageous leap in an attempt to gain access to Chef Caffrey’s office._ ”

Stunned, Neal watched as a ladder attached to one of the fire engines approached the window where he was standing. He saw himself abruptly drop out of view as he lost consciousness, and before the bucket at the end of the ladder got to his window, it came to a sudden and shaky stop. El Mitchell’s narration, spoken over the video, told him that there was some sort of mechanical malfunction.

The men in the bucket appeared to be speaking animatedly with each other, silhouetted by the large lights below them, before one finally slipped out of his air tanks and climbed up onto the edge of the bucket. He laid himself out and, without hesitation, lunged for the window. Somehow, he managed to wrap his fingers around the windowsill, then pushed off with his feet, his legs dangling in mid-air for a few seconds before he slipped through the opening. As the other firefighter used a pole to pass the air tanks through the window to the one that was obviously Peter Burke, the reporter continued to describe the scene.

“ _According to a department spokesperson, Captain Peter Burke of Ladder Company 65 found Caffrey unresponsive and in respiratory arrest. While Burke resuscitated Caffrey and prepared him for transport, the other personnel on the truck were able to fix the malfunction and move the ladder to the window. Caffrey was transported to the hospital, suffering from smoke inhalation. After initially remaining at the scene, Captain Burke was also taken to the hospital for treatment of smoke inhalation and minor injuries. Both men are still hospitalized but are expected to make a full recovery._ ”

El Mitchell went on to explain that, though an investigation was underway, the fire was not considered suspicious and Neal wasn’t a suspect. As she spoke, the camera panned over what was left of the restaurant. Much of it was in ashes, including the wall that had housed the beautiful portrait of Neal’s mother. 

Neal knew it was just a painting. They could have another one made and put in a similar place of importance in the new restaurant. But to him, it had represented something more. It had been his mother’s dream to see Neal working with Vincent Adler in a restaurant she was certain would be successful, but she hadn’t lived to see it become a reality.

Every morning when he’d arrived, Neal had looked at that likeness of her and imagined that she could somehow see him and was proud of everything he’d accomplished. She watched over him, kept him safe, kept Adler from finding out the truth about him. 

He didn’t even realize that he’d started to cry until Mozzie, not normally one for such close contact, embraced him. Seeming to read his mind, the older man whispered words of comfort next to Neal’s ear.

“It’ll be okay, Neal. We’ll bring her back again. She’s still with you, every day, right here.” He slipped a hand between them and touched Neal’s chest as he pulled away.

Neal nodded and wiped at his eyes, gathering himself as a clip of Vincent Adler from earlier that morning played in the background. He told El Mitchell that right now, the only thing that mattered was that Neal was safe. And though Mozzie gave a soft but indignant huff, Neal actually believed Adler and was grateful.

Vincent Adler certainly wasn’t a saint, but outside of being a raging homophobe, he wasn’t a bad person. He’d been there for Neal when Ali Caffrey died, and there had even been a few times during those first months after her death when Neal had unexpectedly found Adler nearly in tears or staring out the window as if he was lost, only to brighten when Neal made his presence known. He funded programs for children who were interested in culinary arts, sometimes even bringing a particularly fascinated child on a tour through the kitchen, his own expressions just as animated as those of his young charge.

And though he was often tough on Neal at work, it was because he knew Neal could handle the challenge. It was the way Adler had gotten to the top, and for as demanding as he was, he was also quick to give Neal credit for all that he’d accomplished in his thirty years.

If not for the homophobia, Vincent Adler would have been a wonderful person. If not for that.

Neal returned his attention to the newscast just in time to be floored by Elizabeth Mitchell’s next comment.

“ _Now, if Captain Burke looks familiar to our viewers, it’s because I’ve interviewed him several times in the past, most recently as part of my Ten on Your Side feature last June on the participation of LGBT police and fire organizations in the 2014 Heritage of Pride Parade. Burke, an outspoken member of the group, FireFLAG, spoke to me about what it meant to him that, for the first time in the parade’s history, the New York City Fire Commissioner marched in the parade alongside LGBT members of the city’s fire and EMS services._ ”

The smiling face of Peter Burke appeared on the screen, though Neal could barely hear what he was saying over the blood rushing in his ears.

Peter Burke was gay.

This man who’d saved Neal’s life, whose face Neal had seen every time he closed his eyes since then, and to whom Neal felt an inexplicable attraction was not only gay but, as the saying goes, out and proud. 

Dumbfounded, he watched the footage of the tall, gregarious firefighter chatting with the commissioner as they walked in the parade, waving a rainbow flag, fist-bumping people in the crowd, even briefly hopping onto the running board of a fire truck draped in a FireFLAG banner and waving from there. 

Neal couldn’t help smiling. Peter Burke was beyond handsome, with a grin that straddled the line between friendly and mischievous, broad shoulders, a confident stride, and a gaze that seemed casual but likely took in everything. And as with the first time he saw him, Neal was once again certain that he’d never seen anyone quite so appealing in his life.

Before he knew it, Elizabeth Mitchell was wrapping up her story with the promise of an evening follow-up. He glanced over at Mozzie, only to find the other man eyeing him warily.

“What?” Neal tried for his best innocent look, but Mozzie didn’t buy it.

“Oh, no. No. Knight in shining armor syndrome is _not_ a good thing.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Which wasn’t true at all, of course. 

“You know exactly what I mean. You have a crush on that guy because he saved your life. And now you know he’s gay. Don’t, Neal. Don’t even think about pursuing something with him.”

Neal looked down and smoothed the blankets over his legs. “Pursuing something?”

“Seriously?” Mozzie moved from the bed to the chair beside it, grumbling under his breath. 

“It’s not _just_ because he saved my life, Moz,” Neal said softly. “I – I can’t explain it. There’s just something about him.” He gave his friend an imploring look. “Haven’t you ever looked at someone and thought…” He trailed off and swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. 

“Thought what?” There was a hint of a challenge in Mozzie’s tone, but he also seemed genuinely curious.

“I don’t know. That there was…more to your story, I guess.” It didn’t dawn on him until after he’d said the words that Mozzie knew exactly how that felt.

A few years earlier, Mozzie had been in a close relationship with Gina, one of the waitresses at Enigma. They adored each other, and Mozzie had told Neal more than once that he thought Gina might be his ‘something more.’ But after some trouble with an ex, she abruptly packed up and moved to California. They’d promised to keep in touch and had for a while, but as with most such agreements, it hadn’t lasted.

Mozzie stared at him for a long minute, and Neal knew he was remembering the situation with Gina as well. His gaze darkened, but before Neal had a chance to apologize, it disappeared and Mozzie finally gave him a resigned nod.

“Just don’t get hurt.” The corner of Neal’s mouth started to curve up into a smile, but it fell when Mozzie shook his head. “I’m serious, Neal. Think about it. This guy is so out that he’s practically the poster child for gay firefighters. Even if he decides he wants to get to know you better, what will he think when he finds out you’re so deep in the closet that you’re finding long-lost Christmas presents? And then there’s the head monkey –”

“Okay, Moz, I get it.” Neal sighed and reached for the newspaper. The photo of Peter Burke stared back at him. It reached right into his soul, set butterflies loose in his stomach. He didn’t even realize he was grinning until Mozzie let out a groan.

“Clearly, it’s too late.” He stood and gave Neal a little bow. “And on that note, I’ll take my leave. They’ll be here soon with your lunch, and even _looking_ at hospital food makes me break out in hives.”

“Melodramatic much?”

Mozzie waved off the comment. “I’ll be back later with His Simianship.” 

Neal chuckled at the nickname. “Thanks, Moz. For the paper and the advice.”

“Sure.” Mozzie’s voice was soft and a little wistful, and Neal got the feeling that the other man was once again thinking of how close he’d come to losing him. “You know I’ll be here, whatever your decision. Just be careful.” With that, Mozzie breezed out the door, leaving Neal smiling after him. It was as close as he was going to get to an outright approval from his friend, but he’d take it.

\-------------

It was late afternoon when Neal finally found himself walking down the hall toward Peter Burke’s room. He’d had lunch and a short nap, followed by yet another visit from Mozzie, this time accompanied by Vincent Adler. To the man’s credit, he seemed not only relieved to see that Neal was doing well, but like Mozzie, he seemed to be quietly coping with the fact that Neal had almost died.

The doctor had stopped in shortly after Mozzie and Adler left, and he was pleased enough with Neal’s progress to give him permission to walk the halls, as long as he didn’t leave the observation unit. The nurse had disconnected him from the IV, though she left the port in his hand for his medications. He’d washed up as best he could in the bathroom sink with the hospital-provided toiletries, then got the pair of pajama pants Mozzie had brought and slipped them on under his gown. When he added his socks and slippers, he looked halfway presentable.

It wasn’t hard to find the right room. There were two firefighters standing just outside the doorway, and several other voices could be heard coming from inside. When Neal slowly approached, the men outside just looked at him like he was in the wrong place. 

“Hey,” Neal offered, giving them a little wave. “Is it okay if I go in?”

One of them was hit with a moment of recognition, and he smiled. “You’re the guy from last night, huh? Yeah, c’mon in.” He led the way into the room, clearing a path for Neal. “Hey, Cap, you have a special visitor.”

“How special are we talking here?” The voice of Peter Burke made its way to Neal before he even laid eyes on the man. And for as confident as he always was, and as easy as it had always been for him to lay on the charm, Neal was hit with a sudden attack of nerves. It was way too late to turn back, though. As he made his way through the small crowd assembled in Peter Burke’s room, he could feel each set of curious eyes sizing him up. “If it’s the battalion chief, tell him he has to…” The other man, seated in a chair beside the bed, trailed off when he caught sight of Neal. 

“Definitely _not_ the battalion chief,” someone murmured, and most of the men in the room chuckled. Peter Burke, however, just regarded Neal with an unreadable expression.

Another voice chimed in from Neal’s right. “Looks more like the guy Cap pulled outta Purgatory last night.”

“Did you ever know that you’re my heeee-rooooo?” Someone behind him – Neal wasn’t sure who – started singing, and the rest of the men joined in. “You’re everything I wish I could beeeeee.”

“Hey!” Peter called over them. “Anyone still singing by the time I finish this sentence – six-fives or 101s – is on permanent latrine duty when I get out of here. And I’ll be making a big pot of backdraft chili my first day back.”

The sudden silence in the room was almost a shock to Neal’s senses. It seemed as though they were even holding their collective breath, as he could hear his own slightly raspy breathing cutting through the air.

“Thank you. Show our guest a little respect. Damn Neanderthals.” A few of the men answered with snorts of laughter, but at least the singing didn’t start again. Peter turned his attention back to Neal and allowed a small smile. “It’s Neal, right? Come on in. And forgive them. We’re just coming off the end of a pretty stressful night tour, and everyone’s a little cracked.”

Neal stepped away from the other men and into the middle of the room. As he did, Peter stood and got back into the bed, then gestured for Neal to sit in chair he’d vacated. The chair was still warm from the other man’s body heat, and Neal had to force himself not to think too hard about that. He looked back up at Peter in time to catch him exchanging a glance with an African-American man at the other side of the bed.

“Okay, guys,” the other man said, standing and rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get our asses back on the train and give these gentlemen some peace and quiet.”

Peter gave the man a grateful nod before addressing the others, who seemed to be forming a single-file line. “Thanks for stopping by, all of you. I’ll be out of here tomorrow, and I’m damn well going to be back for the next day tour.” He paused for a moment, and when he continued, his voice was softer. “Until then, I’m going to get some rest, and after what went down last night, I suggest all of you do the same.”

There were mumbled affirmations, and each man took a turn saying a quick goodbye to Peter, shaking his hand or giving him a clap on the shoulder and some encouraging words. To Neal’s surprise, they all acknowledged him as well, whether with a nod or a ‘glad you’re okay.’

Once they were all out of the room, the African-American man gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze. “Make sure you actually get that rest, alright?”

“Yeah, Jones, I will.” Peter smiled up at him. “As long as you do the same. And give Isabelle my best.”

“Will do, Cap.” The man – Jones – walked around to shake Neal’s hand, though he motioned for him to stay seated. “Lieutenant Clinton Jones, Ladder 65.”

“Neal Caffrey.”

“You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. Take care, man.” Before Neal had a chance to respond, Jones turned and joined the rest of the men in the hallway, calling out, “All aboard!” 

When Neal turned his attention back to Peter, the other man was giving him a smile that looked a little ragged around the edges.

“Thanks. I love them, but they were starting to wear me out.” Neal wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded. He was having a hard time thinking now that they were alone in the room together, and it didn’t help when Peter held out his hand. “I’m Peter Burke, by the way. Guess you know that already if you saw the news.”

“I, uh, I did. Neal Caffrey.” Neal took Peter’s hand, then had to remind himself to simply shake it and let go. Peter’s hand was calloused but warm, and it fit around his own like it belonged there. 

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Grateful,” Neal answered honestly. Those brown eyes met his, warm and relaxed, and he got lost in them for a moment. “Thank you.”

Peter’s smile grew a little modest around the edges. “Yeah. I’m – it’s good to see you doing so well. They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“I ran into the same problem. Elizabeth Mitchell from News 10 told me everything I know so far.”

“Yeah. El and I go back a few years.” Peter was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “Got pretty crazy out there last night. I – I’m glad you made it to the window. We didn’t know anyone was inside.” A barely-there shudder ran through Peter’s body, but Neal caught it, and it startled him. He’d been so wrapped up in his own brush with death – and admittedly, his attraction to Peter – that he hadn’t thought about what it must have been like for his rescuer to suddenly realize that there was someone trapped in what he’d thought was an unoccupied burning building.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said softly, glancing down at his hands. “I don’t even know what happened. I was working on the new menu and stopped to take a quick nap, and I woke up to… _that_.”

“Fire alarms weren’t working up there.” Neal gaped at him, and Peter nodded. “They were working on the ground floor, but not on any of the upper floors. We don’t know why yet, but Dan will figure it out. And the flow rate on the sprinklers was way too low. Hate to say it, but your boss is probably going to be in some trouble.”

Neal’s mouth worked, but he couldn’t find the words. Had the alarms and sprinklers been working properly, he could have had a chance to get out so much earlier, and without his own life and Peter’s being put at risk. “Oh my god,” he finally breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” Peter’s sharp eyes searched his, and it was all Neal could do to not look away. “Did you?”

“No. I – I didn’t.” Neal felt numb, and he started to shiver under the thin hospital gown. “I – why? Why would he…” He trailed off and looked away, his throat tightening as he thought about how many lives could have been lost, beyond his own and Peter’s. If the building had collapsed on the firefighters –

“Here.” The soft touch of a blanket on his hand brought Neal out of his thoughts. “You’re shivering.” Neal nodded his thanks and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, too stunned to be embarrassed. When he looked back up, Peter’s gaze had turned decidedly more sympathetic. “We don’t know the whole story yet. Maybe it was just a coincidence. He did seem pretty concerned about you on the news.”

Peter’s casual tone was enough of a distraction to bring Neal out of his initial shock. “Yeah, he was here earlier. Seemed kind of out of it, but not because of losing the restaurant. I think seeing me in here, it hit him that we could have died.”

“You.” When Neal cocked his head, Peter gave him a vaguely chagrined look. “Somehow, I don’t think he would’ve been bothered if something had happened to me. I know Vincent Adler’s reputation. He probably would’ve found it kind of fitting if his fine establishment had sent a gay man off to his eternal damnation.”

For a moment, Neal actually thought about denying the other man’s claim and sticking up for Adler, who had done so much for him over the last thirteen years. But as he looked into Peter’s eyes, he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be that hypocritical. Instead, he gave Peter a long, meaningful look.

“I hope you know I don’t share his views when it comes to that. Just the opposite, actually. And I’m not just saying that because you saved my life.”

Peter chuckled, and the look he gave Neal in return went straight to the younger man’s soul. In that moment, Neal had the distinct feeling that Peter Burke could see right through the walls of his closet. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Peter said, giving him a smile that, if Neal wasn’t mistaken, was a little flirty around the edges. Neal couldn’t help responding with a grin of his own. Peter’s eyes widened briefly, as did his smile, and the spark that had been smoldering in Neal’s belly since he first laid eyes on Peter Burke ignited. He was now certain the other man was flirting with him.

The spell was broken when Peter started coughing, turning his head into his shoulder. It was a harsh, but much needed, reminder that they were in the hospital for reasons which had zero to do with starting a relationship. Thankfully, Peter was able to get himself under control quickly. He took a few sips of water from the cup on his bedside table, then gave Neal an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Occupational hazard.”

Neal nodded, wondering how many times Peter had dealt with hospital stays during his career. “You know, you asked me how I was feeling, but I never got a chance to ask you the same thing. The news report said something about minor injuries?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Ah, it’s nothing.”

Neal didn’t buy it for a second, especially since Peter had been admitted. “That band on your wrist says otherwise.” Though he was smiling, he gave Peter a knowing look, and the older man relented.

“It’s mainly for observation. Thought I’d be okay, but once I got you out of there and the adrenaline started to back off, I got a little woozy.” He paused for a moment, looking like he was considering how much more to say. “Sprained a finger.” He held up his left hand, which he’d kept mostly hidden until then, and showed Neal a splinted little finger. “Bruised my knees, ribs, and stomach pretty good when I hit the windowsill, so they wanted to check for internal injuries. Didn’t find anything, but they’re still keeping me around because I guess they think I’m charming or something.” He smirked, and Neal couldn’t help laughing. There were so many ways he could have responded to the comment. He settled on one that was somewhere in the middle – still innocent, but definitely interested.

“I can’t disagree with them.”

Peter did a bit of a double take, and his gaze darkened. He licked his lips, and Neal only just managed to keep himself from gasping.

It was probably a good thing that the hostess picked that moment to take Peter’s dinner order. Both of them jumped when she entered the room, but they managed to cover nicely. When she realized who Neal was, she took his order as well, then told him he should head back to his room for his next checkup and breathing treatment. By the time she left, any sexual tension between the two men had dissipated, much to Neal’s dismay – and from his expression, Peter’s as well.

Neal stood slowly and sighed as he handed the blanket back to Peter. “I, uh, guess I should get back.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Peter gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you stopped by, though.” He offered his hand to Neal again, and this time, the handshake was more than just a formality. As Neal’s fingers slipped away, Peter gave them a quick squeeze. “And if I don’t see you again before we get out of here, take care of yourself. I’m sure El Mitchell will want to get us together for a follow-up story at some point, so I’ll probably see you again soon.”

“I hope so,” Neal risked, then continued before Peter had a chance to react to that statement. “And I – I need to thank you again. I don’t think there are enough words to express how grateful I am for what you and your crew did for me. I’ll find a way to return the favor, but for now – thank you, truly.”

Peter looked surprised, maybe even a little overcome, by the statement. He nodded and managed a rough “sure” and a small smile, though an obvious blush was working its way up his neck. Needing to let him off the hook, Neal returned the smile as he walked around the foot of the bed.

“See you around, Peter.”

“Yeah,” Peter said in a near-whisper. “See you around.”

As much as he wanted to stay and get to know Peter, Neal forced himself to walk out the door. He knew that somehow, sooner or later, he would see the man again anyway. Even if Elizabeth Mitchell didn’t do a story on them, he’d find some other way. It was that thought that ushered him down the hall and back to his own room, a smile plastered across his face.

\-------------

As it turned out, Neal didn’t see Peter again during their hospital stay. After he ate dinner, he nodded off and, to his disappointment, slept through the evening news. Mozzie stopped by for a short time to see him before visiting hours ended, but afterward, he was even more wiped out. He dozed through the last round of tests and didn’t even bother trying to stay awake for the nightly news. 

Both Mozzie and Adler showed up the following morning and sat with him through breakfast. Neal fully expected Mozzie’s presence but was surprised by Adler’s, especially considering everything the man normally had on his plate. After the doctor discussed his discharge and follow-up care instructions, Adler stunned him yet again by offering to wait with him until he was officially discharged and then take him home.

Mozzie headed to Neal’s apartment early to change the sheets, make sure Neal had some light and easy to prepare foods, and do anything else he thought would help make Neal’s recovery easier. Once Neal was released, Adler’s Town Car picked them up outside, and instead of sitting up front, Adler slid into the backseat beside him. They sat in silence for a block or two before Adler finally spoke.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Neal.” His voice, normally sharp and commanding, was unusually soft. Neal glanced over, but Adler was looking out the window, his features drawn. “When I heard you were in the hospital…” He trailed off and swallowed, and it dawned on Neal that he was thinking of Ali Caffrey’s death.

She’d been rushed to the hospital after being hit by the cab, but by the time Neal and Adler had gotten there, she was barely holding on to the last threads of her life. And though it had happened nine years earlier, Neal could remember it like it was yesterday. Vincent Adler by her bedside in his three-piece suit, her limp hand clasped in both of his, softly choking out a mantra that begged her to hang on, to stay with him. _“Ali, please, sweetheart, please stay with us, just hang on, please, you’ll be okay, just hold on –”_

Neal pushed the image from his head, but it was too late. The tightness in his chest made him cough, and he leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of his arm. It didn’t take long to pass, but Adler was clearly shaken.

“Maybe they shouldn’t have let you out so soon.”

“I’m fine,” Neal said, his voice gravelly but convincing to his own ears. “Remember what they told us at the hospital. I’ll be doing this until my lungs recover. Could be a few weeks, at least.”

Adler nodded and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Neal. I just – they keep showing it on the news, and it’s getting to me. I don’t know why they have to keep playing it over and over.”

“Ah, it’s just for ratings. Even the local news has to go with what sells. And that’s what sells – fires, natural disasters, anything that can be sensationalized.”

Adler hummed his assent. “They seem to be doing a bang-up job. That woman on channel ten even managed to throw in the fact that the man who rescued you is a homosexual. Now really, why did we need to know that? What exactly does that have to do with losing our restaurant _and_ almost losing you?”

And there it was. Neal took as deep a breath as he was willing to risk and reminded himself that the man could have been doing so many other things, but he’d chosen to ride home with Neal and had actually shown concern for him.

“He saved my life, Vincent.”

“I know, I know.” Adler gave him a pat on the knee. “And I’m grateful to him for that. I just could have gone the rest of my life without knowing he was a fruit. I thought they didn’t allow that. Isn’t the fire department full of Catholics?”

Neal looked down at his hands and tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach. “I…don’t know. Never really gave it much thought.”

“Well, now that I know, I don’t want to think about it either.” Adler grimaced, then put down the privacy window and leaned forward. Neal heard him telling the driver to take a more roundabout route than their usual, one that wouldn’t take them past Enigma. And in that moment, he realized he needed to go see it. He needed to see what remained of their hopes and dreams, of the place where he could have lost his life, of his mother’s portrait.

“No.” He wrapped a hand around Adler’s arm. “Please. I want to see it.”

“What? No. Neal, you should be at home, resting. Weren’t you just reminding me what they said at the hospital?”

“Vincent, please. I just…” Neal trailed off and closed his eyes, letting his hand fall back to his lap. An uncomfortable silence fell between them for a moment, finally broken by a sigh from the older man.

“Of course. You need closure.” When Neal opened his eyes, Adler was giving him a genuinely sympathetic look. “I understand.”

It didn’t take long for them to arrive. The driver parked as close as he was allowed to get, and Adler and Neal got out to walk to what was left of Enigma. The cold March air cut through Neal’s coat and burned a frigid path down into his lungs with every breath. He stifled a cough and hunched his shoulders, jamming his bare hands into his pockets.

Adler, who seemed as unfazed by the cold as usual, led the way around the caution tape and the soot-black ice on the sidewalk. While the older man seemed intent on going inside the burned out shell of the restaurant, Neal stopped below the window to his office and peered up at it.

The walls around the window were scorched black but still intact. Neal’s thoughts drifted back to the news report he’d seen, the footage of Peter’s courageous leap, the shot of them pulling him out of the building, strapped into a basket. A sudden memory broke through, a fragment of something he couldn’t quite place, and it made him shiver.

_You’re safe now, buddy._

Peter.

“Neal?” Adler was watching him from just inside the building. “Come inside. It’s not much warmer, but you shouldn’t be breathing all of that cold air.”

Neal nodded and followed him into what was left of the restaurant. Though the walls were still standing, everything else was ruined, some of it beyond recognition. Charred black chair legs, warped from the heat, stood scattered throughout the dining area like sentries. Pieces of the ceiling hung down, and glass from the light fixtures crunched beneath their shoes as they walked. A faint cloud of smoke still hung in the air, mixing with melted plastic to create an acrid stench that turned Neal’s stomach. He tried to breathe through his mouth, which helped with the smell but made the nausea worse.

There were a few men walking around inside, but Neal barely saw them. All he could see was devastation and heartbreak.

And the remnants of a large, ornate silver frame propped up against what was left of a soot-covered pillar.

Neal’s whole body went numb. He stared at the frame, and though he couldn’t feel himself putting one foot in front of the other, he somehow ended up in front of it. There were large boot prints in the black sludge on the floor in front of the frame, as if someone had deliberately placed it there.

And inside the frame, clinging to the edges, were the tattered scraps of the portrait of Ali Caffrey. Most of it had been incinerated, but there was just enough left to haunt him.

Neal’s gorge rose with such alacrity that he almost vomited all over himself and the frame. He pressed the side of his hand to his mouth and stumbled out the side exit, into the alley. This time when he retched, he let everything out, leaning over with one hand braced on the bitterly cold side of the restaurant’s Dumpster. A small part of him hoped that Adler hadn’t noticed his hasty exit, even as he heaved again, eyes squeezed shut.

“Neal?” Adler’s voice, right behind him, pushed through the muted ringing in his ears. Cringing, Neal tried to wave the man off with his free hand. “Oh, no.”

Thankfully, it ended as quickly as it started. Neal pushed himself away from the Dumpster and tried to slow his ragged, painful breathing. An arm wrapped around his waist, a hand clamped on his bicep, and he was led back into what was left of the restaurant. There was a metal bench just inside the door, partly twisted from the exposure to heat, but still standing. Adler helped him sit down and offered him a clean handkerchief.

“Should I have Kenneth bring your inhaler?”

Neal shook his head and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. “No. Just…need to catch…my breath.” Which, with lungs that were still aching, was easier said than done. He felt like he’d be able to do it, though, without help from the medication. As he pressed a hand to his chest and tried to concentrate on getting himself into a steady rhythm, one of the most nasal male voices he’d ever heard rang out from behind them.

“Hey, you guys aren’t allowed to be in here. This is a –” When Adler turned to face him, the man stopped mid-sentence. “Oh. Hey, sorry, Mr. Adler. I didn’t recognize you from behind.”

The man stepped up beside Adler, and Neal got his first look at him. He was a few inches taller than Adler and fairly unremarkable-looking, with black-rimmed glasses and a mop of dark hair sticking out from under, of all things, a black trilby. He wore black pants and a black vest over a black and white gingham shirt. A wool coat was draped over his shoulders like a cape, and oddly enough, both a badge and a holstered pistol were clipped to his belt.

When he saw Neal sitting on the bench, the man’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re the guy! The one that Peter Burke pulled out of the office upstairs. Yeah, I saw your picture in the _Daily News_.” He grinned and stuck his hand out. “Dan Picah, Bureau of Fire Investigation.”

Neal shook the man’s hand and tried to muster half a smile. “Neal Caffrey.” His voice was still rough, and Dan’s brow furrowed.

“Hey, you sound a little shaken up. Do you need some water or something? I have some out in the car.”

Neal thought about refusing, but before he had a chance, Adler spoke for him.

“Please. That would be nice.”

Dan grinned again before disappearing out into the alley. They waited in silence for him to return, with Adler hovering in a way that was starting to make Neal uncomfortable. 

“Here you go.” Dan reappeared with a bottle of water, and Neal gave him a grateful nod as he took it. “It’s only been in there for a couple of hours, so it should be cold, but not frozen.”

Neal swished the first mouthful of water around thoroughly, and though it felt way beyond indelicate, he leaned over to spit it out as far away from the other men as he could. He then took a few sips that felt heavenly to his raw throat but less so in his unsettled stomach. When he glanced back up, both Adler and Dan were watching him with matching hopeful expressions. If he’d felt better, he would have laughed. As it was, though, he appreciated the concern.

“Thanks…” He trailed off, already having forgotten the fire marshal’s last name. Though the other man seemed a little clueless at first glance, he picked up on the issue right away.

“Call me Dan,” he said, a little too cheerfully for the destruction that surrounded them. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, I’m not going to pin this mess on you.” He gestured around the building. “Turns out, you lived an idiom the other night – you really were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’re still checking a few things, but the cause of the fire was electrical. Started in the kitchen, then worked its way forward and upward.” Dan turned his attention to Adler, and Neal was surprised to see the marshal’s gaze harden just enough to be noticeable. “Of course, my investigation will also include looking into the inspection records, Mr. Adler. Some of the firefighters who were on the scene have given me some troubling information about the alarm and fire suppression systems.”

Adler pulled himself up to his full height, still an inch or two shorter than Dan, and balled his fists on his hips. “I assure you, Mr. Picah, that everything is on the up-and-up.”

“I hope so, for your sake.” Dan’s right hand came to rest on the holster at his hip, and though it seemed like an unconscious movement, Neal couldn’t help staring. The unassuming man was the last person Neal ever would have expected to issue such a subtle but obvious threat to someone as well-known and powerful as Vincent Adler

Dan must have noticed Neal’s attention, and his grin returned. “It’s legit. Not like Magnum, P.I. Maybe more like Magnum, FDNY.” He let out a short cackle, and though Adler was still bristling, Neal couldn’t help smiling. That had the unfortunate effect of encouraging Dan into another ramble. “Yeah, we’re trained police officers. We can arrest people and everything. I’ve pulled the gun a couple of times but haven’t had to use it yet. I’ve come close, though.” He leaned over to clap Neal on the shoulder. “Hey, Peter Burke is a friend of mine. Did you see that jump on the news? That was something else, huh? Don’t know if I would have been able to pull that off, but Peter’s got a pair of great big brass ones.”

Neal wasn’t sure exactly how to respond to that, but Adler beat him to it, apparently having heard something he could use to regain the upper hand.

“And let me guess, you’ve seen them.” Adler’s voice was dripping with disdain, and Neal’s stomach started churning again. He knew exactly where the conversation was going. “You look like the type.”

Dan turned his attention to the man beside him. “The type? If you’re implying that I’m gay, Mr. Adler, guess again. I have plenty of gay friends and some unique interests, but I’m about as straight as it gets.” He dropped his chin and gave Adler a cocky little smirk. “And no, I haven’t _seen_ them…but man, do they ever clank when he steps up to the urinal.” 

Normally, Neal would have laughed at the statement, but he could feel the anger rolling off of Adler in waves. The older man wasn’t used to anyone getting the best of him, and Dan Picah was doing a damn fine job of that. As the uneasy feeling spread through his body, Neal opened his mouth to try to do damage control. Before he got a chance, though, Adler did exactly what Neal was afraid he’d do.

“Well, the next time you see that cocksucker, you tell him that just because he saved Neal’s life, that doesn’t make him any sort of hero. People like him don’t belong in the fire department or the police department, or in any other position where impressionable children might look up to them. The only place he belongs is burning in hell.”

Neal never heard Dan’s reply. He stumbled back outside, face burning with a combination of fury and humiliation, and was sick again. The only thing left in his stomach was the water, but it was followed by a bitter bile that made his throat ache and brought tears to his eyes.

When it was over, he straightened and opened his eyes, only to find both Adler and Dan watching him closely.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dan asked, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I have medical training, too.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Adler said haughtily, guiding Neal away from the other man and toward the street. “I’m taking you back to the hospital.” 

“No,” Neal pleaded, wishing he’d brought the bottle of water with him to soothe his throat. “Vincent, please. I just want to go home.” He stopped them, then brought his eyes up to meet Adler’s and took a deep breath through his nose in an attempt to keep from tearing up again. “You – you were right. We shouldn’t have come here.”

Adler’s eyes searched his for a long, unnerving moment before he finally relented. “Fine. But I want Mozzie to stay with you for a few days. I’ll instruct him to call me if your condition worsens.”

Relieved, Neal simply nodded. He let Adler lead him back to the Town Car, where the older man once again joined him in the back seat. Once he was cocooned in the safety and warmth of the car, though, Neal’s relief quickly gave way to anger. Adler’s remarks about Peter didn’t just make him sick, they infuriated him. He pushed himself as far away from the other man as he could get and leaned his head against the cool window glass. 

“Neal.” Adler rested a hand on Neal’s arm, but Neal shrugged it off.

“He saved my life, Vincent.” Neal could hear the tremor in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He felt miserable. His throat, his stomach, his head, his chest – everything _hurt_. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, and he fought with what little strength he had left to keep from giving in to them in front of Adler.

“I know, Neal. I’m sorry.”

 _Like hell you are._ Neal shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Neal, I said –”

“I heard you.” Neal almost turned and glared at Adler, but he didn’t want the man to see how badly his eyes were swimming. “Peter Burke may not be a hero to you, but he sure as hell is to me.” His voice broke on the last word, and he clenched his jaw to keep his chin from trembling. A few of the tears coursed down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He didn’t want to give Adler the satisfaction.

“I’m sorry,” Adler repeated, this time putting a cool hand on the back of Neal’s neck. “I didn’t know it would upset you so much. And I’m very grateful that you’re alive.” Neal noticed that Adler didn’t specifically apologize for what he’d said about Peter, but it was a start. This time, he didn’t reject Adler’s touch, but he didn’t take comfort in it either.

They sat in silence for the rest of the ride, punctuated only by an occasional catch in Neal’s breathing, more from the aftereffects of the fire than from his emotions. By the time they got to Neal’s apartment building, he’d pulled himself together and made it very clear that he didn’t want Adler to come along with him.

Though Adler put up a token protest, he’d obviously gotten the hint. He switched to the front passenger seat of the car, and then to Neal’s great relief, merely watched as Neal walked into the building. 

\-------------

In the days that followed the fire at Enigma, Neal didn’t see Peter again in person, but he _did_ see him – in a way he never anticipated.

The same day he took Neal home from the hospital, Adler called and gave him two paid weeks off of work, and at least another two weeks of light duty, depending on his doctor’s recommendations. The older man also insisted that Mozzie spend a few days at Neal’s apartment, helping him and making sure he didn’t have any medical issues.

That first night, Neal slept fitfully and woke several times, but the nightmares he’d expected to have never came.

The second night, not only did he not have a nightmare, but he experienced something quite the opposite. He had a very explicit – and very arousing – sex dream. About Peter Burke.

He didn’t remember much about it. A fragment of Peter crowding him up against a wall and kissing him, then another one of his legs wrapped around Peter’s body as the other man sank into him over and over, and one of him moaning loudly as Peter expertly laved at one of his nipples.

Mozzie woke him in the middle of the last part, apparently thinking he was in the throes of a nightmare. 

“Neal! You’re okay. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

Oh, he was safe alright. And hard as a rock. Thankfully, the comforter – and the fact that he was curled up on his side – helped hide that development from his best friend.

“I’m good, Moz. Really.” He coughed into his shoulder and groaned. He was so close to coming that every little movement was a delicious sort of agony. 

“Let me go get you some water. Or would ginger ale be better? I have some of the real stuff at my place.”

Though his stomach was fine, he opted for the ginger ale if just to get a few minutes of privacy. As soon as Mozzie headed downstairs to his own apartment, Neal locked himself in the bathroom. It only took a couple of strokes to get himself off, eyes closed, breathing Peter’s name. By the time Mozzie returned, he was cleaned up and back in bed.

It happened every night. Not all of the dreams were sexual, but they were all intimate in some way. Even the most innocent one, with the two of them snuggling on the sofa together, sharing popcorn and watching a movie, made his whole body tingle. When he woke up that morning, he treated himself to a leisurely tug under the warm spray of the shower.

But the more explicit dreams were another matter. He never made it long enough to _get_ to the shower on those days. When they made slow and beautiful love in his dreams, he’d be so close upon waking that he barely had to touch himself to finish the job. And then there were the more carnal versions, like Peter tying Neal’s hands to the headboard and then enthusiastically rimming him senseless. At least that one happened after Mozzie had gone back to spending the night at his own place, because Neal was sure he’d been moaning Peter’s name when he woke up, sticky and sated.

Neal tried to keep his mind on other things during the day, like recovering fully and going back to work. But he kept getting distracted by thoughts of Peter Burke, dark eyes and easy smile and _see you around_ in that appealing rumble. By the end of the first week, unable to ignore it any longer, he made the decision to find out more about the man, starting with a search on the internet.

It turned out that searching for ‘Peter Burke’ or even ‘Peter Burke Manhattan’ got way too many results. Adding ‘firefighter’ to the mix helped, and he saved a few of the recent photos of Peter that he found. There were several news articles about the fire and links to TV reports that he’d either already seen or didn’t want to watch, but then he came across something else, something that startled him.

A link to the _Daily News_ archives gave him a photo from mid-2007 of Peter in his dress uniform, clearly in tears and clutching his white hat in his hands. The other man Neal had met at the hospital, Clinton Jones, sat beside him on the concrete steps, his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him close. Neal’s heart clenched as he read the caption.

 _Lieutenant Peter Burke (left) of Ladder Company 65 is consoled by Firefighter Clinton Jones, also of Company 65, after a memorial service for fellow firefighter David Siegel of Ladder Company 141. Siegel, 32, a seven-year veteran of the FDNY, died under mysterious circumstances on Tuesday. An investigation into his death is ongoing._

Neal was briefly tempted to search for more information about David Siegel’s death, but as he stared at the photo, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Peter looked absolutely heartbroken, and it just seemed too personal, as if he was invading the other man’s privacy. Feeling disappointed in himself for having crossed that line, he closed the tab with the photo and was about to close the original search window when something else caught his eye.

It was a link to a video that was simply titled, _TL65 E101 Pride 2014_. He normally would have looked right past it, but Peter was in the preview frame, a big grin on his face and his arm slung around the shoulders of a bi-racial woman. And after a week of dreaming about Peter, Neal was willing to do just about anything to see that smile again.

He clicked on the video link and turned up the volume on his laptop. The cameraman, whose voice he didn’t recognize, spoke as he panned over the scene before him.

_“Here we are, here we are! Tower Ladder 65, Engine 101, Pride Parade 2014! First year ever that the commissioner is marching with us. That’s him waaaaaay over there, with his purple shirt and rainbow flag. Are you freaking serious?”_

The camera zoomed in on the man, decked out in a purple polo shirt and white pants and surrounded by uniformed firefighters, before zooming back out and focusing on a couple of people who were approaching. The taller of the two immediately made Neal break out into a grin.

_“Hey Peter, Di! This is Peter Burke, our fearless leader. And this is Diana Berrigan, one of our kickass lieutenants. The other one is around here somewhere. These two are at least partly responsible for getting the commissioner to join us. Can you believe this?”_

Peter and Diana, both wearing their dress uniforms, draped their arms over each others’ shoulders and smiled at the camera. 

_“Pretty crazy,”_ Diana said, bumping Peter’s hip with hers. 

_“Never, ever thought I’d see the day,”_ Peter agreed.

_“All because of you two. Well, the rest of the group, too, but –”_

_“But Peter is the outest and the proudest,”_ Diana interjected. 

_“Oh, god.”_ Peter gave the camera an exaggerated eye roll, and Neal chuckled softly as he watched. _“That saying wore out its welcome as soon as Jones pinned it on me.”_

_“Ah, yes, that would be our other illustrious lieutenant, Clinton Jones, who is…”_ The camera searched for a moment before finally landing on Jones, who was standing with two women. _“…right over there. That’s his wife, Isabelle, with him. And the hot redhead is Diana’s fiancée, Sara Ellis.”_

When the camera panned back to them, Diana was beaming proudly – and so was Peter. It looked like Peter was about to comment when a voice interrupted from off-screen.

_“Oh my god, you know I can’t resist a camera. All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up!”_

Though it was effeminate, the voice was vaguely familiar, and Neal wondered if it was one of the nameless group of firefighters he’d encountered at the hospital. He wasn’t prepared for what came next – a man dressed in drag pushed his way into the shot and gave Peter a big kiss on the cheek.

 _“Well, hello, Captain Sex Appeal,”_ she purred. Though she was definitely camp, she actually looked pretty good.

 _“Really, Dee Dee?”_ Peter wiped at his cheek and tried not to smile, but his blush gave him away. _“You want me to march with the commissioner with lipstick all over my face?”_

 _“Oh, honey, you look fucking gorgeous no matter what.”_ Dee Dee turned to the crowd assembled on the nearby sidewalk and gestured to Peter before running an index finger down his cheek. _“Isn’t he hot? And he’s single, boys! Who has a uniform kink?”_ A few of the men wolf-whistled, and Peter waved to them, though it looked like his cheeks had gotten even redder. 

_“Should I work it, sweetie?”_ Dee Dee batted her fake eyelashes at the camera, then did a runway walk away from them and back. She wore an FDNY t-shirt and black imitation leather short shorts that showed off freshly-waxed legs, as well as black flats with flames painted on them. She primped her long brown hair and struck a few poses before returning. _“And that, my beauties, was Dee Dee Phoenix in all her epic it’s-hotter-than-hell-out-here glory.”_ She glanced over at the rest of the group and apparently saw something that drew her interest. _“Okay, it’s time for this chick to go work the crowd. I’ll catch up with you later.”_

They said their goodbyes, and the camera turned back to Peter and Diana.

_“What do you think of all this, Cap?”_

_“Unbelievable,”_ Peter replied, his voice soft. A sudden flash of sadness crossed his face, and Neal again felt like an intruder. _“We’ve come such a long way since –”_

“What, are you cyber-stalking him now?”

Neal whirled around, his heart hammering, to find Mozzie standing right behind him. “Moz, what the hell?” Though his lungs were healing well, having the breath scared out of him wasn’t a good thing, and he started coughing. Mozzie simply stared at him, one eyebrow arched, until Neal managed to get himself under control.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Recovering from almost dying, thanks,” Neal grumbled, wiping his watering eyes. The video was no longer playing, but he had no idea if he’d reflexively stopped it when Mozzie startled him or if it had ended on its own. Frowning, he closed the laptop and glared at Mozzie. The other man glared right back, and damn, was he good at it.

“This has seriously gone too far, Neal. If you’re really that interested in him, find a way to get in touch with him. Call the firehouse or that group he’s part of, or drop by for a visit instead of spending all this time pining for him during the day and having pornographic dreams about him at night.”

Neal felt the blood drain from his face. He opened his mouth, but for once, he was at a complete loss for words.

Mozzie crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, why do you think I stopped spending the night?” When Neal didn’t reply, Mozzie just shook his head. “I thought you were having nightmares the first couple of times. You know, until I heard you say his name, and then a little while later, something about making him – well, it’s something I’d rather not repeat. Let’s just say that you were definitely topping him. And now you know why I went home when I did.”

By the time Mozzie had finished, the color had more than returned to Neal’s face. He remembered the dream all too well, and it had been one of the most gratifying ones. Peter normally topped in Neal’s fantasies, but in this one, he’d convinced Peter to bottom for him. The things he’ d said…their cries…

Neal had been so breathless when he’d awakened post-orgasm that he’d needed the inhaler. Not wanting to wake Mozzie (and not realizing he apparently already had), he’d simply wiped himself clean with his underwear and slept in the nude. When he’d finally gotten up the next morning, Mozzie was already gone, and Neal assumed he’d left for work.

But if his friend had heard even a fraction of the things Neal said in the dream or the noises he’d made – oh, god. No wonder Mozzie had so abruptly returned to spending nights in his own apartment.

Neal couldn’t meet the other man eyes. “Moz, I – I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be.” When Neal looked up, Mozzie was giving him a smug smirk. “It actually sounded like you were having a _great_ time. I just decided that if you were having dreams like that, you were probably well enough to be on your own.” He thought for a moment and held up a finger. “Well, that, and I didn’t want to be here if you started sleepwalking. Or sleep…whatever.” He grimaced, and Neal couldn’t help laughing, the tension completely broken.

“Thanks, Moz. I think.” Neal rubbed at his still-heated cheeks. “So, you really think I should contact him?”

Mozzie shrugged, then sat in the chair next to Neal’s. “I’ve never known you to not go after something you want. Or someone, as the case may be. And you said that there was something going on between the two of you at the hospital, right? Some mutual attraction, or at least some lightly-medicated flirting?”

“Yeah, there definitely was.” Neal’s voice faded as he thought back to Peter handing him a blanket, squeezing his fingers, sounding hopeful at the idea of seeing him again soon. 

“Well, then maybe it’s worth pursuing.” Neal’s eyes widened, and Mozzie held up his hands. “I know what I said in the hospital. But I guess this seems different. And not because you’re Googling him or having some pretty, uh, _vivid_ dreams about him. It’s because I’ve been there for your other relationships. And I’ve never heard you mention thinking that there might be something more with any of them. You made it pretty clear going in that there could never be anything long-term with any of them. So for you to say that about someone you barely know…” He trailed off and shrugged again. “Plus, from what I’ve seen on the news, he seems like a great guy. You could certainly do a lot worse –”

“ – and I have.”

“ – and you have.” Mozzie finally allowed a smile. “Well, I don’t really have much room to talk, but you’re thirty years old, Neal, and you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy. Oh, and not to beat a dead horse, but you almost died last week. Maybe the fact that you’re still among the land of the living is some sort of sign that you should get out from under the head monkey’s heavy hand and _start_ living, you know?”

Neal studied the other man’s face, looking for any sign that he might be teasing him. They did sometimes joke about their unorthodox personal lives, with Neal deep in the closet and Mozzie’s friends-with-benefits relationship with Sally, the woman who serviced the restaurant computers.

But all he saw in his friend’s eyes was sincerity, mixed with a hint of sympathy. Mozzie, he realized, knew that he himself could have a relationship any time he found someone, but that Neal didn’t have that same luxury as long as he was working for Vincent Adler. All of Neal’s past relationships had been short ones, when he was out of town or away at a specialty school. He’d never even imagined having something beyond that. 

He’d also never expected to meet the man of his dreams when he was on death’s door in the middle of an inferno as much of his life burned down around them.

“Yeah,” he finally said, smiling back at his best friend. “I mean, if he’s not interested or it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll know.”

“Well, now that that’s settled, it’s time for lunch.”

Neal followed Mozzie out into the kitchen, his mind made up and an uninhibited grin on his face. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt good about something outside of his career. And in that moment, he didn’t even care about what Adler would think.

\-------------

As it turned out, Neal didn’t have to contact Peter – because Elizabeth Mitchell did it for him. She’d called Neal later that same day to set up an interview, telling him that they needed to work around Peter’s schedule, since he was already back to working light duty. 

Four days later, Neal found himself in the back of a cab, on his way to the News 10 studios. Adler had tried to talk him into letting Kenneth take him in the Town Car, but the last thing Neal wanted was to look like a pretentious ass in front of Peter. And he may or may not have been considering asking Peter to join him for lunch after the interview.

Since it was to be his first encounter with Peter after the hospital, Neal had agonized over what to wear before finally settling on a dark navy sweater over a gray and white striped oxford shirt and black slacks with faint charcoal pinstripes. It was still way too cold outside for his liking (and his lungs), so he’d put on a wool jacket, scarf, and gloves as well.

When he got to the station, Neal was ushered back to one of their green rooms by an assistant. The room was small but comfortable, with a leather sofa and two armchairs, a mini-fridge, and a table stocked with refreshments. He’d just finished hanging up his coat when Elizabeth Mitchell knocked on the half-open door and joined him.

“Hi! El Mitchell,” she said, offering her hand. Neal took it and was a little surprised by her grip, which was somehow both soft and commanding.

“Neal Caffrey. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, likewise.” She gave him a smile that instantly put him at ease and motioned for him to sit on the sofa. “Peter just texted me; he’ll be here any minute. I wanted to introduce myself and go over what I’m going to ask during your interview. I know you have experience with appearing on TV, so we’ll skip the beginner’s stuff.”

After asking how he was doing, she talked to him about what she was going to cover and the questions she was planning to ask. He’d just finished assuring her that he was okay with watching a clip of the rescue and the responding to it when there was a quick rap on the door.

“Anybody home?”

Peter.

Neal couldn’t help grinning as the door opened and the face he saw every night in his dreams peered into the room. Peter gave him a wink as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it up, then pulled El into a warm hug that made Neal more than a little envious. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Peter murmured, giving her a tight squeeze before pulling away.

“You, too. I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“And you,” he said, turning to Neal and looking him up and down. “This is a much better look for you than the hospital gown.” He stuck out his hand, but what started out as a handshake ended with Neal wrapped in those big arms. Stunned, Neal reciprocated and was rewarded when Peter’s arms tightened around him. The older man was so warm that Neal just wanted to melt into him, and he smelled heavenly, like bay rum and soap and manliness. 

Neal almost groaned in disappointment when Peter backed away, but the other man’s beautiful smile was worth the loss of that body pressed against his.

“You look like you’re doing well,” Peter said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“So do you, and I am.” Neal realized he didn’t sound very articulate, but he was still reeling from Peter’s surprise hug – and he wanted more. It didn’t help that Peter looked amazing. Neal had expected him to be wearing a uniform of some sort, but Peter was dressed in a V-neck cashmere sweater that was such a pale shade of blue it almost looked white, paired with black slacks and black plain toe oxfords. 

“That’s good to hear.” Peter was gazing warmly at him, and it was all Neal could do to keep from openly flirting with him in front of Elizabeth.

“Peter, you got my email, right? You know what we’re going over?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded at El, still smiling. “Everything looks good. If we end up running long, cut the part about the parade. This is more Neal’s story than mine.”

“Of course.” She beckoned for them to follow. “Okay, let’s go get set up.”

They walked out to the interview set, where the crew did a quick check of the seating arrangements before helping them with their microphones. El went over a few last things with them, and then did a few takes of her intro as Neal and Peter sat there and tried to keep their sincerity in place.

As they paused for the segment producer to make one last check of everything, Peter stretched out his long legs, and when he brought them back, his right knee settled against Neal’s left one. Neal was somehow able to keep a straight face, but he pressed his leg into Peter’s to make sure the other man realized the clearly intentional maneuver hadn’t gone unnoticed. He glanced down at their legs, then let his eyes wander up Peter’s thigh to his crotch, where his pants were pulled tight across – 

“Okay, Neal,” El said, thankfully bringing his roaming eyes back to her before what he’d been looking at affected him in a way that would have been more than a little awkward. She hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d been doing, but she now focused on him and started asking him about his job at Enigma.

After giving some quick backstory, Neal answered her question about what he was doing there that night and how he’d awakened to discover that the place was on fire. Though he was more accustomed to doing cooking segments than sit-down interviews, he knew how to handle himself in front of the cameras, and everything went smoothly.

El then moved on to Peter’s portion of the story. Neal listened attentively as the other man set the scene. He gave a quick explanation of a tower ladder truck in laymen’s terms before explaining that, after someone from dispatch talked to Vincent Adler, they’d expected the building to be unoccupied. Neal’s appearance at the window changed their whole game plan, and they’d immediately switched to a rescue operation.

As they watched footage of the truck’s malfunction on the monitors off to the side, Peter explained that there was a problem with the controls that extended the boom, leaving the platform temporarily stranded away from the building.

“And what made you decide to jump?” El asked him.

“Neal collapsed.” Peter glanced over at Neal before looking back to El. “It looked like his legs gave out, and he disappeared right before the platform stopped. We weren’t sure what was wrong or how long it would take to fix, and I knew Neal didn’t have much time.”

As Peter explained the jump itself, Neal couldn’t help staring at him. Though he made everything sound routine, there was a thread of compassion in Peter’s voice that reached through Neal’s chest and wrapped around his heart. His throat started to burn as Peter told of finding him in respiratory arrest and reviving him.

“Neal, how much of this do you remember?”

“Not – ” His voice came out raspy, and he gently cleared his throat before trying again. “Not much. I remember pieces of it. I think Peter put his mask on me at one point, and there was a time later when I felt like I was floating.” He didn’t tell her that he remembered seeing Peter and thinking he was an angel, or that he felt an immediate connection with the man. And he surely didn’t tell her that if he concentrated hard enough, he sometimes thought he could feel Peter’s lips on his own, breathing the life back into him. 

El moved on to asking about their injuries, then wrapped up by asking Neal if there was anything he wanted to say to the man who saved his life. Once again, his chest tightened, and he swallowed against the pressure before answering.

“Well, I’ve thanked Peter a few times already, but I feel like I can’t ever say it enough. I’m working on trying to figure out some other ways I can show my gratitude to everyone who was there that night, and especially to Peter. If he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t made that jump – ”

And that’s when it happened. His recovery, his feelings for Peter, his desire to learn more about the man and find out if there was more to their story – all of it had done a great job of distracting him from the fact that he’d come extremely close to dying that night.

But right there, in front of Peter and Elizabeth and the cameras, under the bright studio lights, it hit him. He’d stopped breathing. Peter hadn’t just needed smelling salts to revive him; he’d actually had to breathe the life back into Neal. And if he’d been only a few minutes longer…

Neal’s palms started to sweat, and he wasn’t sure if he was even going to be able to finish the sentence. He took a few deep breaths and tried to pull himself together, tried to concentrate on the warmth of Peter’s leg pressed against his.

“Take your time, Neal,” El said in a tone that was much softer than the one she’d used during the interview. “We can edit this later, and we’re just about done anyway. When you’re able, go ahead and finish your thought, and I’ll wrap things up.”

Neal nodded and took another cleansing breath before finally looking back up at her and managing a small smile. “I’m fine. Just…um, yeah.” He paused for a moment to make sure he had it together. “If Peter hadn’t been there and hadn’t made that jump when he did, I probably wouldn’t be here today. And I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to tell him how profoundly grateful I am.” He turned to look at Peter and was thrown by the depth of concern in the man’s eyes. “Thank you, Peter, from the bottom of my heart. You truly are a hero.” Though he was still feeling shaken, Neal’s smile widened, and Peter responded in kind.

It didn’t take long for El to finish up, thanking them both for their time and doing a lead-in to what would be the next story. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Neal started to remove the microphone. Peter’s hand fell on his shoulder, and he just barely managed not to jump.

“Neal? What’s going on?”

Neal shook his head, his fingers trembling as he unclipped the transmitter from the back of his pants. “I’m fine. I just need a minute. I need to – to not be here right now.” He dropped the transmitter and microphone on the chair and left, forcing himself to walk as he headed back to the green room. He didn’t stop until he was in the attached bathroom, where he leaned over the sink, intending to splash some water on his face.

As he stood there, though, shaky hands under the running water, it hit him again. He’d stopped breathing. He’d almost died, and if he hadn’t been able to make it to the window, or if Peter hadn’t seen him collapse and decided to jump, his life would have been over. 

Neal closed his eyes and tried to force the thoughts from his mind. He splashed his face once, then again, before scooping a handful of water into his mouth. After shutting off the faucet, he stayed hunched over with his elbows on the edge of the sink, rubbing his wet hands slowly over his cheeks.

“Neal?” This time, Peter’s hand came to rest between his shoulder blades. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’m good.” Neal inhaled deeply and held the breath for a moment before blowing it out again. He grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and dried his face, hoping he wasn’t blushing too noticeably as he straightened and turned to face Peter.

“It happens,” Peter said with a knowing look. “Hits you at the weirdest times for the first few weeks, usually without any warning.” Curious, Neal cocked his head. “I’ve had a few close calls myself. It can be rough, especially the first time.”

“Yeah, I – I don’t think it fully hit me until right then.” Mentioning the moment in the interview reminded Neal of El Mitchell, and he glanced over Peter’s shoulder at the door.

“I, uh, asked El to give us some time. She knows I’ve been through this before.” 

_Oh._ Now that he’d pulled himself together, Neal was acutely aware of the fact that he was alone in the room with Peter, and that the other man was precariously close to being in his personal space. Which was exactly what Neal wanted.

“Thanks, Peter,” he said softly, his eyes locking with the ones he’d been seeing in his dreams. When a smirk played around the corners of Peter’s mouth, Neal realized what he’d said and broke into a grin. “Again.”

“Hey, anytime.” Peter returned the smile and seemed to be considering something. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you anyway. Alone.”

And there it was. That spark Neal felt in his belly in the hospital re-ignited. He shifted so he was a little closer to Peter and licked his lips, acutely aware of the other man’s eyes darting to his mouth before returning to meet his gaze again. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I hope I’m not way out of line here, but I – I’ll be honest, Neal. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” Peter reached out to run his fingers lightly down the outside of Neal’s wrist, and Neal shivered, every nerve ending seeming to come alive at once. He never would have expected Peter to be so direct, even after the hug he’d gotten earlier, but he also wasn’t about to let Peter have all the fun.

“I know the feeling,” he murmured, leaning in even closer. “You’ve been in my dreams.”

“Is that right?” Peter’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, thumb stroking at Neal’s pulse point. It was all Neal could do to not moan.

“Every night.”

Peter’s eyes darkened, and his other hand came to rest on Neal’s waist, the warmth soaking through the material and right into Neal’s skin. He moved in close, blocking out the rest of the room so all Neal saw was that face, those eyes, those lips nearly touching his own.

“Good dreams, I hope.” The low rumble of Peter’s voice made Neal gasp. Peter saw his chance and took it, capturing Neal’s lips with his own. The kiss was gentle at first but turned more insistent with each passing second. This time, Neal couldn’t hold back the moan, and Peter’s tongue pushed into his mouth.

It was so much better than his dreams. Peter was warm and solid, with one hand in the small of Neal’s back, pulling him in, as the other moved to scratch lightly at the curls at the nape of his neck. He didn’t overpower Neal, didn’t force him, just held him and kissed him and made soft little grunts of satisfaction that Neal’s imagination never could have conjured.

Neal responded in kind, taking everything Peter was giving, and then taking more. He held Peter close, one hand on his hip and the other arm around his back, and he thought he might melt into the strength of that firm body pressed against his.

It wasn’t until Neal realized he was starting to get hard – and that Peter was as well – that he reluctantly pulled away. As much as he would have loved to continue, he really didn’t want their first sexual encounter to be in the green room at 10 News. 

“Peter,” he whispered, resting his forehead against the other man’s, both of them a little breathless. “Oh my god.”

“Mmm.” Peter backed away just far enough to put a little space between them. He let out a shaky sigh, but the corners of his mouth curled into a small smile. “I – I thought, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Yeah.” Neal could only stand there, panting softly, trying to will his body to settle.

Peter glanced down at himself and groaned at what was left of the bulge in his pants. A dark blush started to work its way up his neck.

“What?” Neal arched his eyebrows. “You mean that’s not supposed to happen?”

At that, Peter laughed and seemed to relax. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, I just didn’t expect this. At all. I mean, I hoped, but…” He trailed off and ducked his head, then looked up at Neal through his lashes. He looked so disarmingly handsome in that moment that Neal was struck by an intense urge to kiss him again. So he did, softly this time, a quick affirmation before backing away.

“I was hoping, too, you know.” He cocked his head and smiled at Peter. “But I think we should start with something a little more innocuous. How would you feel about going to lunch with me?”

Peter beamed at him. “I’d love to.” He nodded toward the door. “We should probably say something to El. She was a little worried about you.” Before Neal could reply, Peter opened the door, leaned out, and called for Elizabeth.

“Neal, are you okay?” she asked as soon as she was through the door, genuine concern on her face.

“I’m fine now. Just a really delayed reaction, I guess.” He grinned at her, and she laughed.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better.” She turned to Peter and winked at him, running a hand down his sleeve. “Peter, honey, I didn’t realize that when you asked for some alone time with Neal, you were talking about a make-out session.”

Neal glanced over at Peter, trying to be nonchalant, and found the other man looking right back at him. El leaned in and ran her thumb over Peter’s chin.

“You’ve got a little stubble burn right here.”

Neal instinctively reached up to brush a thumb over the stubble on his face before he realized what he was doing. Peter broke into a grin, while El just arched her brows and pursed her lips. “Oh.” It was the only thing he could come up with.

El couldn’t quite manage to stifle a giggle. “You walked right into that one.”

Neal’s cheeks heated, but even he had to admit that it was a pretty smooth setup. He shook his head and returned Peter’s grin. “I did, didn’t I?”

Peter wrapped an arm around his waist. “It’s okay. El’s damn good at her job. She has all sorts of tricks to get people to admit things.” He turned to El and pulled Neal even closer. “We’re going out to lunch.”

“Oh, that’s great!” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, then gave Neal a more reserved version. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep that part out of the story.” El seemed to think for a moment, then pulled out her phone. “Hang on. Let me capture this moment – first date photo!”

A part of Neal wanted to protest on the off-chance that Adler might somehow see the photo. At the same time, he was thrilled by the idea that the day of their first date would be immortalized that way. It seemed so symbolic, like the start of something big. He stepped in close to Peter, a small smile on his face, and let El take a couple of pictures.

“Perfect! You two make such a beautiful couple.” El held out the phone and let them take a look at the last shot, and they did indeed look gorgeous together. “Here, Neal, let me have your number and I’ll send it to you.” They quickly exchanged cell numbers, and she sent the photo to both men before wishing them luck on their date.

After saying their goodbyes to El, Peter actually helped Neal into his coat before donning his own. The simple sweetness of the gesture filled Neal with such warmth that he couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear as they headed out to catch a cab.

\-------------

“This is still a little hard to believe,” Peter murmured in Neal’s ear as they sat in the back of the cab. The driver, who was speaking into a Bluetooth headset in a language Neal didn’t recognize, wasn’t paying any attention to them, and they were taking full advantage of that. They snuggled against each other, holding hands and speaking softly as they headed to their destination, one that Neal had chosen.

“It is,” Neal said, “but it feels pretty real to me.” Peter started nuzzling his neck, and he tilted his head to give him better access.

“Me, too.” Peter mouthed at Neal’s earlobe before planting a line of small kisses down his neck. “Mmm. You smell great.”

“So do you.” Neal glanced at the driver, who still wasn’t watching, before turning to meet Peter’s mouth with his own. This time, the kisses were light, and they were both grinning like maniacs against each other’s lips.

“So…” Peter pulled away and ran his thumb over Neal’s lower lip. “Were you serious about the dreams?”

“I was. And before you ask again, yes, they were very good dreams.” He kissed Peter’s thumb. “Very satisfying.”

Peter groaned and closed his eyes. “You probably shouldn’t elaborate. We’ll never make it to lunch.”

“Good point.”

Peter opened his eyes and pulled Neal close, wrapping both arms around him. Neal rested his head on Peter’s shoulder and sighed. 

It felt like they’d already known each other for ages, and Neal wasn’t sure if it was because they’d somehow bonded during the rescue, or because there was something even deeper between them, something he didn’t want to think about for fear of jinxing what had barely just started.

They sat in silence for the rest of the ride, simply holding each other and enjoying the closeness. Neal knew they were close to their destination, a little out-of-the-way diner he’d loved for years, and they wouldn’t be able to be affectionate there.

He felt a little pang of something, not necessarily jealousy toward Peter for being out, but regret that he couldn’t have the same thing. He’d often dreamed of someday branching out on his own, away from Adler, and then being open about his sexuality. But that’s all it had ever been – a dream. He’d had a home at Enigma, and close friends like Mozzie, and it was comfortable. Though he’d dated and had even been in relationships, none of them had ever been serious enough for him to consider breaking out of that comfort zone and giving up the security of his life with the Adler Restaurant Group for something different.

But just then, an image flashed through Neal’s mind – a quick shot of him with Peter, holding hands and marching together in the pride parade. Peter was in his dress blues, and both of them were smiling. And it just felt right. It felt comfortable to be himself, even in front of all of those people. The Neal in his vision seemed so happy that it made his chest ache.

“Hey,” Peter whispered, bringing him out of the daydream. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

Peter hummed an acknowledgement but didn’t ask him to elaborate. Grateful, Neal tilted his head up to kiss the other man’s jaw. Peter leaned his head back against the seat and sighed, and as Neal looked up at him, he thought he’d never seen someone so handsome. He could have stayed there all day, but the cab pulled up to the curb outside the diner, and he heard Peter chuckle.

“You’re taking me to Estelle’s? Man, I love this place – haven’t been here in ages, though.”

Relieved, Neal nodded. “Yeah, it’s a great little place.”

“It’s an institution.” Peter waved off Neal’s attempt to pay the driver and paid for the ride himself, then got out and slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’m kind of surprised this is your kind of place, though, given your profession.”

“Ah, I love diners. Any time I’m going out of town, the first thing I do is look for reviews of all the diners and greasy spoons in the area.”

“A man after my own heart,” Peter said, then paused at the bottom of the steps and cocked his head at Neal, who couldn’t help grinning at him.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” He winked at Peter before sobering a bit. “Diners remind me of my childhood, back when my dad was still alive. And what I do is more like a form of art. It looks nice, and people pay a lot of money for it, but there’s not a lot of substance to it.”

Peter seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding at him. “Makes sense. Now let’s go get reacquainted with Estelle’s.” He stepped aside to let Neal go first before following him up the steps.

They quickly found a booth and ordered drinks before looking over the menus. Neal figured a big, strapping guy like Peter would order a burger and fries, but he was surprised when the older man ordered a turkey club sandwich and a small cup of chicken rice soup instead. Neal went with his usual veggie wrap and the same soup, and they made small talk while they waited.

Neal found out that Peter grew up upstate, that he’d been a star baseball player in high school, and that he’d actually considered going into accounting until his junior year of high school, when he’d accompanied his best friend on a few ride-alongs with the local volunteer fire department.

“That first time I saw my buddy’s dad grab a charged line and run into a burning house, I was a goner. My heart started racing, and I just – I felt this change come over me. I knew, right then and there, that I wanted to do that. I wanted to be that guy. I started out by volunteering with that same company, but I wanted to make a living at it, and FDNY is the big show. The rest…”

“History.” Neal grinned at him over his wrap.

“Exactly. So, what about you?”

“My story’s not as exciting.” He took a big bite of his wrap to keep from having to say anything else, but Peter simply waited him out, polishing off one of the sandwich triangles and starting on another, and giving Neal an expectant look the entire time. Neal finally sighed and shook his head. “Really, there’s not much to say. I’ve loved cooking since I was a kid, so that’s what I did. Did some swimming when I was younger, but then it got to the point where we couldn’t afford it, so I stopped.” He didn’t want to go into the story of his father’s death, so he hoped Peter wouldn’t dig. Thankfully, he didn’t – or not about that point anyway.

“So how in the world did you come to work for Vincent Adler?”

Neal’s heart sank. The very last thing he wanted to do was bring Adler into his first date with Peter. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shrugged, not quite able to meet Peter’s eyes. “That’s, um, kind of a long story.” Scrambling for a subject that would turn the conversation back toward better things, he glanced up at Peter. The other man was giving him a contrite look, but Neal waved it off and managed a crooked grin. “So how did you figure it out?”

Peter’s eyes brightened, and he flashed a smile of his own. “That look you gave me when you said you didn’t share his views about my sexuality. I’d been feeling a little bit of something before that, but that’s when I knew for sure.” He glanced around, and though there wasn’t anyone seated nearby, he still dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “And then when I knew there might be a chance, I – I couldn’t get you out of my head. Is that crazy?”

“Only as crazy as what’s been going on in _my_ head.” Neal reached across the table with his right hand, laying it on top of Peter’s left, careful not to bump his taped fingers. He found himself suddenly hungry for something that didn’t involve lunch, and by the look in Peter’s eyes, the other man was having similar thoughts. 

“Neal, what are you doing this afternoon?”

Neal groaned softly and shook his head. “I actually have a doctor’s appointment, and then a meeting with Adler afterward to discuss the results and to go over my schedule for next week.”

“Shit,” Peter breathed, rubbing absently at the smattering of stubble on his cheek.

“Yeah. I have to do it, unfortunately. He wants me to start working a partial schedule at Antiquity next week.” Neal grimaced and slid his hand away from Peter’s.

“You look thrilled.”

“I’ll be splitting time with the executive chef there, Matthew Keller. Keller hates my guts, and the feeling’s pretty mutual.” The look of barely-concealed disappointment on Peter’s face was one that Neal was sure was mirrored on his own. “Well, what about tomorrow?”

“That’s when I have _my_ appointments,” Peter said with a chuckle. “GP in the morning, physio in the afternoon, and then I’m back on day tours the next two days. I’m still on light duty because of the finger and contusions, but I can still boss the guys around.”

In spite of the frustration, a plan was already starting to form in Neal’s mind, but he needed to know more about Peter’s schedule. “So what’s day tour? I’ll admit that I’m pretty clueless about the hours that firefighters keep.”

Peter took a drink of his iced tea. “Day tours are nine in the morning until six in the evening. We work two of those, then have two days off. After that, we do two night tours, which are just the opposite – six in the evening until nine in the morning. Then we get three days off, and then back to day tours.”

“Wow.” Neal cocked his head, his brow creasing. “Isn’t that hard on your sleep patterns?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. You get used to it eventually, and we’re allowed to sleep at the firehouse, especially on night tours.” Peter squinted at him. “Plus, aren’t you the guy who was sleeping in his office after hours?”

Neal glanced away, a smile playing on his lips. “Guilty as charged,” he murmured. He sipped his water and looked back up. “That’s another reason Adler wants to see me after my appointment. We were in the middle of filming a special for the Food Network when the fire happened. I was tied up with that, so I had to wait until after we closed to do some menu work that I needed to turn in to Adler by the end of the next day. Thought I’d take a quick nap to recharge, and…you know the rest. Obviously, the menus don’t matter anymore, but he’s been talking with the network about where to go from here, and he wants me to join them this time to discuss possible scenarios.”

Peter was watching him closely, fingers steepled under his chin, looking as though he was very deep in thought. He didn’t even blink when their waitress came over and removed their empty dishes.

“Peter? What?”

Shaking his head slowly, Peter sighed. “I just – I’m not sure how to say this without sounding kind of selfish.” Curious, Neal motioned for him to continue, and Peter seemed to take a moment to choose his words. “I just can’t help thinking about the fact that if you hadn’t fallen asleep up there, we may never have met. But it makes me feel like an absolute ass to think that way because you could have died.” He looked down at his hands, and Neal could see his throat working.

“But I didn’t,” Neal said softly. He reached across to cover Peter’s hands with his own and waited until the other man’s eyes met his again. “I don’t know what that means, or if it even means anything, but I’d like to find out.”

A slow smile spread across Peter’s face, and his earlier uncertainty vanished. “Me, too.” He turned his hands over and wrapped his fingers around Neal’s, then leaned across the table as far as he could. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispered, “but this place is a little too public.”

Neal couldn’t help grinning, even as his heart started to race. “You want to get out of here?”

“Please.”

Since he’d asked Peter out, Neal settled the tab, and they headed out to catch a ride. Neal knew they didn’t have much time before he had to get back to his apartment to get the paperwork for his doctor visit, but he wanted to make the best of it. He excused himself to make a quick call, then returned to Peter’s side.

“I got us a ride with a little more privacy. Shouldn’t take him long to get here.”

Peter nodded and pulled him close. His warmth felt so heavenly that Neal couldn’t stop a barely-audible moan from escaping his lips. Peter, of course, noticed and smirked at him.

“What?”

“Sorry. You’re just really warm.” Neal wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist. “It’s freezing out here. I’m so ready for summer.”

“Ah.” Peter turned so he was facing Neal and enveloped him in those big arms. “Let’s see how warm we can get you.” The older man started to lean in for a kiss, but even in such a sweet moment, a part of Neal’s mind reminded him that they were in plain sight in an area where people might be likely to recognize him. He hadn’t minded the hand-holding in the restaurant, as they’d been seated in an area that was fairly private, but now they were in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Most of those who passed by probably wouldn’t even notice them, yet Neal still felt himself tense up.

“Maybe over here out of the way instead,” he whispered, guiding Peter into a narrow alley beside the restaurant.

Peter closed his eyes and gave a brief shake of his head before finally looking into Neal’s eyes again. “Yeah, I forgot for a second there. I – I usually don’t date guys who are in the closet. Haven’t since I came out.”

“But you’re willing to make exceptions?”

“Not until now.” Peter gave him a sweet smile, then reached out to turn up the collar of Neal’s coat, repositioning his scarf as best he could. Seemingly satisfied, he pulled Neal back into a very cozy embrace. “There. That should help keep you a little warmer – and a lot less recognizable to roaming eyes.”

And sure enough, with Peter’s arms wrapped around him and the sides of his face protected, Neal felt a lot safer, not to mention warmer. He gave Peter a quick kiss before settling back in against him. 

“Thank you,” he said, surprised by how amazing it felt to be holding this man – any man, but especially this one – in public. Peter’s hands moved over his back in gentle strokes, and Neal sighed.

“Warmer yet?”

“Mmm. Much. This is perfect.” 

Peter hummed in agreement and turned just far enough to kiss Neal’s temple. They stood there in silence for a while, just simply being. It took Neal a moment to notice when Peter slowly started swaying back and forth, moving them to the rhythm of the city around them.

“Are we dancing?”

“Not yet,” Peter whispered. “But if you come out with me to Halligan’s on Saturday night, I think I can arrange some dancing.” He moved so his lips were right next to Neal’s ear. “And whatever comes afterward.”

Neal shivered, but not because he was cold. Peter’s words and that tickle of breath on his ear sent warmth coursing through his body and brought another smile to his face. “I’d love to. I have no idea where it is, though.”

“Most people outside of fire and EMS don’t. It’s kind of a private place – nice, though. Great pub food, music, dance floor, and they have a FireFLAG night twice a month. We can grab a bite to eat, do some dancing, and I’ll introduce you to the others. There are a lot more of us than you think.”

“Sounds good to me. We’ll exchange numbers in the van.” As if on cue, a quick beep of a horn behind them alerted Neal to the fact that their ride had arrived. “Ah, speak of the devil…” He pulled away from Peter and led him over to the green VW Westfalia, which the other man was eyeing with marked surprise. “Captain Burke, our chariot awaits.” Neal ushered Peter into the van, then got in behind him.

“Wow.” Peter looked around in awe as he sat down on the wide rear seat. “Been a long time since I’ve been in one of these. This is in great condition.”

“Uh, try pristine.” Mozzie had long ago hung a curtain between the driver’s compartment and the rest of the van, and his disembodied voice seemed to startle Peter.

“Seriously, Moz?” Neal said, rolling his eyes at Peter. He pulled part of the curtain aside and raised his eyebrows at Mozzie.

“What? You said you wanted privacy.” When Neal nodded in Peter’s direction, Mozzie heaved an exaggerated sigh. He turned the driver’s seat so it was facing the back and pushed the curtain aside. “Good afternoon. Apparently, the privacy comes after the introductions.”

“Apparently, it does.” Neal gave him a mock glare before turning to Peter. “This is Mozzie, my closest friend and Enigma’s sommelier. Moz, this is Peter.”

“Like I don’t know that. You’ve barely stopped talking about him all week.” While Neal tried to keep the blush out of his cheeks, Mozzie turned his gaze to Peter. “Welcome to Winters’ Westfalia Charter Service, where we supposedly offer you more privacy than a cab. Just keep in mind that this is a vintage Volkswagen, not a shaggin’ wagon. No bodily fluids on my upholstery. Now, I’ll be your chauffer today. Destination?”

Peter rattled off his address, and Mozzie nodded and closed the curtain, completely ignoring Neal’s death glare. As music started up on the other side of the curtain – Stevie Ray Vaughan, from the sound of it – and the van pulled away from the curb, Neal felt a hand wrap around his own.

“It’s okay,” Peter said softly. “Come on, we don’t have a long ride. Let’s make the most of it.”

Those words washed away Neal’s embarrassment, and he sat down beside Peter, who had slipped out of his coat. Finally allowing a smile, Neal took off his gloves and scarf, then removed his own coat. It was warm in the van, and the less layers they had between them, the better.

“Now, about that kiss.” Peter ran his fingertips over Neal’s jaw, a surprisingly light touch, and leaned in to kiss him. As soon as the older man’s lips touched his, Neal couldn’t help but give himself over to the kiss. He let out a soft moan and rested a hand on Peter’s thigh, his lips parting when Peter’s tongue teased at them.

Though their earlier kisses were wonderful, this one seemed especially perfect. Neal wasn’t worried about anyone seeing them or walking in on them, which left him free to enjoy the tingle of Peter’s hand on his face, the deliberate thrusts of Peter’s tongue as it danced with his own, the arousal pooling low in his belly.

Peter leaned back into the corner of the bench seat, pulling Neal along with him, and the younger man ended up with the top half of his body stretched out on top of Peter’s. The position was a little awkward on the narrow seat, but they somehow made it work.

It wasn’t a surprise to Neal that, as they continued to make out, he was getting increasingly aroused. He was, quite literally, living his dreams, and his libido was keeping up just as well as it had for the past several nights. Peter started exhaling little rhythmic moans that only served to make Neal even harder.

He shifted and tentatively rubbed his erection against Peter’s hip. Peter broke off their kiss and rested his forehead against Neal’s, panting for breath. Before Neal fully realized it was happening, the other man’s hand slipped down between them, and those fingers that had been trailing over his face were suddenly running down over the bulge in his pants to cup his balls. The heel of Peter’s hand pressed against Neal’s cock, and he let out a moan that he was sure Mozzie must have heard over “Little Wing.”

“Mmm…Peter,” he gasped as he lifted his hips and pushed into Peter’s hand, desperate to keep the contact going. He was a lot closer to embarrassing himself than he probably should have been, but all he cared about in that moment was how amazing it felt. His own hand managed to find its way up Peter’s thigh to where the other man’s erection was tucked up into the waistband of his pants. It was almost a relief to know he wasn’t the only one who was reacting so strongly.

Neal had just started to run his fingers up and down Peter’s cloth-covered cock, eliciting a drawn-out groan, when the music suddenly quieted. He hadn’t even noticed that the van had stopped moving and wondered how long they’d been sitting still.

“Neal?”

Both of them froze at the sound of Mozzie’s voice, silent except for their rapid breathing. Peter glanced up at the curtain, then brought his eyes back to Neal’s, a small smile playing on his lips as he moved his hand to a less conspicuous location – Neal’s hip. Neal returned the smile and dropped his own hand back to Peter’s thigh. 

“Yeah, Moz?”

“You do know we’re there, right?”

“I do now. Give us a few minutes?” Neal sighed and was just pulling out his phone to get Peter’s number when something occurred to him. “Wait, you’re not double-parked, are you?”

“Or in front of a fire hydrant,” Peter added.

“Of course not.” Mozzie’s indignant reply made Neal smile. “I’m legally parked, thank you. You need to wrap things up if you want to make your appointment on time, though.”

“Yeah, thanks, Moz.” Neal went back to his phone and was just pulling up his contacts list when he felt Peter’s breath on his neck. 

“Wish I lived a lot farther away.” He brushed his lips over Neal’s neck.

“Mmm. Baltimore?” 

Peter chuckled and nuzzled his ear. “Oh, if we were going that far, we’d fold out the bed behind us. And maybe pray that your friend has an endless collection of music.” He licked at Neal’s earlobe, and Neal almost dropped the phone.

“Fuck, Peter,” he whispered, conscious of the fact that Mozzie hadn’t turned the music back up very far.

“Next time.” Peter gave him a long, lusty look before slipping the phone from his hand. He punched his own number into the contacts list, glanced at Neal’s number, then handed the phone back and took out his own to add Neal’s number from memory. The whole process only took about a minute and left Neal a little impressed. “Next time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Neal replied, helping Peter into his coat.

“Saturday.” Peter gave him a quick kiss, then pulled him into an embrace that warmed Neal from his head to his toes.

When the hug finally ended, Neal took Peter’s face in his hands and looked deep into his eyes, thumb stroking Peter’s cheek. “Stay safe.”

“Always.” Peter grinned and leaned in for one last kiss before opening the door. “See you soon.” He climbed out slowly, his fingers slipping through Neal’s, then turned around to look back at him. “Good luck with your appointments.”

“You, too.” Neal knelt next to the open door and smiled. “And thanks for today. For lunch and…” He trailed off and shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah.” Peter reached in and gave his knee a squeeze. “Bye.” With a grin and a wink, he slid the door closed.

Neal pushed aside the curtain and looked out, only to find Peter looking right back at him. The older man beamed and gave him a little wave. When Neal waved in return, Peter jammed his hands into his coat pockets and walked into the building.

Neal waited until Peter was inside before joining Mozzie on the other side of the curtain. He already had an idea brewing, and he’d need his friend’s help if he was going to pull it off.

\-------------

Two days later, Neal and Mozzie pulled the van into the back parking lot of the Ladder 65 and Engine 101 headquarters and prepared to put their plan in motion. After exchanging some texts with El Mitchell, who directed him to Battalion Chief Reese Hughes, Neal was able to get permission to surprise the firefighters who’d responded to the Enigma fire. And one of the best ways he could think of to thank them was to cook for them.

Chief Hughes was skeptical at first, but after Neal laid everything out for him on the phone and promised that the meals would be both hearty and healthy, he seemed to agree that the plan was a good one. The men would appreciate not having to prepare the meals themselves, as well as being recognized for a job well done.

Both El and Chief Hughes had promised to keep the plan a secret, and Hughes was able to tell them what time they should get there and where to park. He said he’d tell the day tour to expect some company, but wouldn’t reveal the reason behind the visit.

As Mozzie pushed the buzzer by the back door, and they waited with their utility carts full of food and drinks, Neal couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. This would be his first time really meeting Peter’s friends – outside of the hospital, where both of them were pretty out of it – and he wasn’t sure what they’d make of the fact that he and Peter had started dating. Would they think, as Mozzie originally had, that it was a knight in shining armor complex? Thanks to the video he’d seen, he at least didn’t think he had to worry about homophobia from them, although there had been a lot more of them in the hospital room than the video.

The sound of the opening door jarred him out of his thoughts, and he managed to smile at the firefighter standing in the doorway, who towered over him – and who was decidedly _not_ Peter Burke.

“Good morning,” he said. “I’m Neal Caffrey, and this is my colleague, Mozzie Winters. I believe Battalion Chief Hughes called about our visit.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. C’mon in.” The young man, whose shirt read BLAKE, stepped aside and let them push their carts in, then shut the door behind them. “Um, what’s this about? He didn’t say why you were coming.”

Neal turned to him and smiled, this time a wide and genuine grin. For some reason, being inside the building brought back his confidence. They may have been on Peter’s turf, but it was Neal and Mozzie’s turn to shine.

“We’re going to cook for you.”

Blake gave a skeptical tilt of his head. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m – well, I _was_ – the executive chef at Enigma, and –”

“Oh, right. I know who you are now.” Blake gave him a knowing grin and waved them down a hallway. “Kitchen’s upstairs, though. Hang on, let me get a couple of the guys, and we’ll carry your stuff up.”

They emerged into an enormous bay with two fire engines parked side-by-side, assorted equipment racks and toolboxes, and even what looked to be two actual brass poles coming down from the second floor. Three firefighters were chatting in the middle of the bay, and they all turned to look at the interlopers as Blake led them toward a wide stairwell.

“Hey,” one of them called over. “Ain’t that Cap’s boyfriend?”

Neal opened his mouth to respond, already feeling a blush starting high in his cheeks, but Blake beat him to it.

“Yeah, he and his buddy are here to cook for us.” Blake waved the men over. “Come help me get this stuff upstairs.”

As they approached, one of the men looked suspiciously at the carts. “They gotta sign in with housewatch first. And did you even look inside these things? How do you know it’s not a bomb or something?”

“Definitely no bombs,” Neal hurried to reassure him, opening the doors on his cart and watching as the men took turns peering inside. Mozzie did the same, remaining oddly silent through the whole thing. When Neal gave him a curious look, his friend just shrugged and rolled his eyes. It suddenly dawned on Neal that Mozzie was trying to be on his best behavior for his sake, and he gave the other man a small smile before returning his attention to the firefighters. “We’re the guys Chief Hughes called about.”

“Ah, got it.” The man – Graham, according to his shirt – nodded and took the cart from Neal, grabbing the handle on one side and gesturing for Blake to get the other side. Two of the remaining firefighters took Mozzie’s cart, and after checking in with a firefighter in a small room near the front of the bay, Neal and Mozzie followed the men and the carts up the stairs and down a short hallway into the firehouse’s kitchen.

Neal looked around the kitchen in awe. He’d been expecting a small, crowded room with grease-spattered appliances and supplies scattered everywhere. Instead, the kitchen was large and modern, with industrial stainless steel appliances, countertops, and sinks. There was a large butcher block trestle table, lined on both sides with several chairs, and there were lounge chairs and a sofa at the other end of the room, some of them occupied. There was a blackboard above the sofa, and various photos and plaques hung on the walls.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Mozzie mumbled next to him, a delighted smile spreading over his face. Though he was obviously more of a wine expert, Mozzie had become quite the skilled cook over the years, and Neal was glad to have him along. Not to mention the fact that Moz was the only one of Neal’s colleagues who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at someone referring to Neal as ‘Cap’s boyfriend.’ 

“Hey, what’s going on in here?” A familiar voice floated in from the hallway, and Neal’s head shot up. Peter appeared in the doorway with Clinton Jones, both of them dressed in sweat-drenched navy blue t-shirts and gray shorts. Neal’s mouth went dry, and he couldn’t help staring. Peter looked gorgeous, his hair mussed, skin flushed, and a carefree grin on his face. 

“Your boyfriend and his buddy are here to cook for us,” Graham replied, leaning back against the edge of the table.

“I can see that,” Peter murmured, his eyes fixed on Neal’s. “Hey, Neal.” 

“Hey, yourself.” Neal grinned back at him.

“Mozzie.” Peter nodded in Mozzie’s general direction, and Moz gave a little bow. “Graham, did you ask Neal if it was okay to call him that?”

The other firefighter’s eyes widened, his gaze shifting from Peter to Neal and back again. “I, uh…no.”

“I – I don’t mind,” Neal interjected quickly. “Not at all. I’m good with it if you are.”

“I am.” Peter’s grin turned a little mischievous at the corners. “Very much so. I guess you’re the surprise that the chief mentioned?”

“We are. We’re here to cook for you.”

Peter seemed to consider this briefly, looking at their supply carts, before giving him a shrug. “Sounds like a plan.” He gestured to the firefighters standing around the kitchen. “You guys give Mozzie a hand getting everything unpacked and set up. I need to talk to Neal for a minute and grab a shower, and then I’ll be back.”

As the other men started to help Mozzie, and Jones headed for the showers, Peter motioned for Neal to follow him down the hallway and into his office. He shut the door behind them and helped Neal out of his winter coat before hanging it on a rack in the corner. As soon as he turned back, he took Neal’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was slow and beautiful, and instead of arousing Neal, this time it simply relaxed and warmed him. He rested his hands on Peter’s waist and started to lean into him, but Peter backed away.

“Not yet,” he said, nodding down at himself. “I’m a mess. Let me get a quick shower first.” He ran his thumb over Neal’s jaw. “God, it’s good to see you. Didn’t know if I’d be able to wait until Saturday to see you again.”

“Same here.” Neal smiled and gave Peter a little more space. He glanced around the room, taking note of a desk and two chairs, a locker in the corner, a few shelves that housed mostly books and manuals, numerous photos and plaques hanging on the walls – and a bed along one wall. “Peter…”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a bed in your office.”

“There is.” Peter winked at him. “Maybe I’ll give you a closer look later, as long as we’re careful.”

“Don’t want me to get you pregnant?”

Peter laughed and shook his head. “Reese – Chief Hughes – said I’m at the top of the list for his job when he ages out, which is soon. I can’t do anything that might jeopardize that.”

“So that means…?”

“No sex, no drinking, no drugs, no other conduct unbecoming while I’m on duty.”

“Hmm.” Neal considered this for a moment before leaning in to brush his lips over Peter’s jaw. “But making out doesn’t count as sex.”

“No, we might be able to do some of that. And I’m still on light duty, so Jones is in charge.” Peter kissed him back and sighed. “Speaking of Jones, we should probably stop talking about this or things could be a little awkward if he’s still in the shower when I get there.”

Neal looked away sheepishly and nodded. Peter stepped around him and retrieved a towel, uniform, and dopp kit from his locker.

“You look great, by the way,” he said, coming back to stand in front of Neal and giving him an appreciative once-over. “Very sharp.”

“Thanks, Peter.” Neal had worn one of the spare coats he’d had at home, embroidered with the Enigma logo. It was a white executive chef’s coat with long sleeves, French cuffs, and concealed snaps, giving it the sleek look that he preferred.

Peter hooked the index finger of his free hand in the front of the garment and pulled Neal closer. “If I’m on my best behavior while you’re cooking, will you show me what you wear under this later?”

Neal moaned in reply and kissed him, sucking at Peter’s lower lip as he pulled away. “You should go. Probably now.”

“I should go.” Peter ran his finger down the front of Neal’s coat.

“Peter. Go take a shower.”

“Yeah.” Peter took a deep breath and put a hand on Neal’s shoulder, but this time, it was simply to guide him to the door. “I’ll see you in a few.”

They left Peter’s office, and Neal turned to go back toward the kitchen, while Peter turned in the opposite direction. A head poked around the corner at the kitchen end of the hallway – Graham.

“Hey, Cap. Cold shower, man. Really cold.”

“Clean the toilets, Benny. Really clean.” Peter winked at Neal and flashed him a quick smile, then headed off to get his shower.

By the time Peter returned, Neal was preparing a mushroom and spinach stuffed chicken breast recipe that he’d created several years earlier, while Mozzie was working on shredding carrots for another of Neal’s personal recipes, this one for veggie quinoa pilaf. Both dishes were healthy but would also be hearty enough to satisfy the firefighters, and everything could be easily reheated if they had to go out on a call.

Neal glanced up when Peter walked in, then paused to give him a longer look. Unlike most of the other men, who were dressed in dark navy shirts and black or navy pants, Peter wore a light blue button-down uniform shirt with his navy pants. CAPT BURKE was printed above one pocket, FDNY above the other, and Neal noticed two silver bars on each side of his collar. His shirt looked to be neatly pressed and was tucked into his pants, and he looked so sharp that Neal had a hard time pulling his gaze away.

“Wow,” Peter said as he approached. “You guys don’t waste any time. I didn’t think I was gone long.”

“You weren’t,” Jones said from the table behind them. “They’re tearing it up in here.”

Peter leaned in for just a moment to see what Neal was doing, his hand resting on Neal’s shoulder. “Do you need any help, or should I leave you to it?”

“We’re good,” Neal replied, flashing him a smile. “Part of the reason for doing this is so you guys don’t have to.”

Peter chuckled and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Got it. I’ll just be…” He pointed to the table, and Neal nodded. As much as he would have liked to keep Peter there beside him, he knew better. The other man would be too much of a distraction, especially in that uniform.

Peter sat on the sofa and leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and once again, Neal struggled to turn his attention back to his work. He finally managed, though, and the small talk that had started while Peter was in the shower commenced behind him. Though he and Mozzie quickly got into a zone, they did answer the occasional questions the firefighters shot their way.

As focused as he was on cooking, Neal noticed that Peter was concentrating less on the conversation and more on the way Neal moved as he prepared their meal. Not only did he not mind the attention, but he let himself enjoy it. It felt good to know that, even among his closest friends and colleagues, Peter mainly had eyes for him. 

Before long, he put the chicken in the oven and removed the rolls he’d put in to warm. Mozzie was doing fine with the pilaf, so Neal put the rolls in a couple of baskets he’d brought along and took them over to the table, along with butter and spreaders. It was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the tabletop, and it was so beautiful that he almost didn’t want to add things to cover it up.

There was a large circular emblem painted in the middle with “Engine 101” around the top and “Ladder 65” around the bottom. A set of railroad tracks wrapped around the bottom and out to the sides, and the two trucks Neal had seen downstairs were riding on the tracks, one to either side. The phrase, “All Aboard the Pride Train” was painted above the emblem in a beautiful script. Down at the very bottom was a small line of five helmet shields, three of them marked with 65 and the other two with 101. Just above them were the words, “In Memory Of” and below them were the names of each firefighter they’d lost. Off to the right side was a different FDNY emblem, with “In Memory of Our Fallen Brothers 9-11-01” across the top and “343 Never Forgotten” across the bottom. 

Neal had never seen anything quite like it, and he took a moment to stand there in respectful silence as he looked over the names at the bottom. He felt a sudden surge of emotion and was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost dropped the bread baskets when a hand fell on his shoulder. Turning to find Peter beside him, Neal opened his mouth but wasn’t even sure what to say. It was only then that he realized the conversation had stopped and everyone was watching him – watching _them_.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Peter said softly. His hand moved across Neal’s upper back, soothing him. “We’ll tell you about them sometime, if you want. But it’s a table – it’s okay to use it.” He gently extracted one of the baskets from Neal’s grip and put it down on the table, followed by the other. By then, Neal had pulled himself together and put down the butter and utensils.

“It is beautiful,” he agreed, then looked around at the firefighters. “Why the Pride Train?”

“All aboard,” Jones called from the sofa. “Long story, buddy.”

“It started back when this place was where they sent the rejects,” Graham offered, a slightly bitter note to his voice.

“Was?” Blake chimed in, earning him a few chuckles.

“Can you sit down for a few minutes?” Peter asked, gesturing to the sofa.

Neal glanced over at Mozzie, who was leaning against the counter. “Go ahead, _mon frère_. I’ve got things covered over here.”

Peter took Neal’s hand and led him over to the sofa, then sat down far enough away that he could see not only Neal, but most of the firefighters in the room. He ran his hands over his thighs and took a deep breath.

“It started back when Kyle Bancroft, who’s the borough commander now, was just a captain here at Engine 101. The station was just new, and most of the surrounding stations didn’t think that another station was needed here. I guess they felt like the 101s were going to steal some of their glory or something. So when they were trying to figure out who to assign to the new station house, they decided to staff it with everyone who didn’t fit in at the other houses.” Peter grimaced and looked around at a few of his brothers, all of whom were listening with rapt attention, before turning back to Neal.

“Chief Bancroft – well, Captain Bancroft at the time – is black. He wasn’t the first black captain in the department, but he was young and smart and had moved up really quickly, so naturally, he became a target. Keep in mind that, at the time, the majority of the department was straight white Irish Catholic men. Bancroft, as a black Methodist, definitely didn’t fit the mold. So they stuck him here.

“Reese Hughes, who’s our battalion chief now, was one of his lieutenants. He’s a Lutheran, and he also supported letting anyone become a member of the department, regardless of race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation – and he was pretty damn vocal about that. So they put him here, too, along with a couple of other black guys, a Jew, an atheist, and a guy they suspected of being gay.” Peter’s voice grew soft toward the end of the statement, and he seemed to drift for a moment before coming back to himself. Noticing Neal’s curious stare, he gave him a small smile. “Not me…this was before my time.”

“Sounds like the start of some really elaborate joke,” Mozzie chimed in from the kitchen, where he was listening to the story.

“How’s that?” Jones cocked his head, and Mozzie regarded him solemnly.

“Three black guys, a Lutheran, a Jew, an atheist, and a gay guy walk into a firehouse…” He trailed off, and for a split second, there was utter silence. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at Jones, and the lieutenant burst out laughing. The others followed suit, some laughing until there were tears in their eyes.

Neal noticed, though, that while Peter was chuckling, there was something melancholy hiding deep in his eyes. He slid closer and reached for Peter’s hand, and the older man’s gaze brightened.

“You okay?” Neal whispered.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” He waved to the rest of the men with his free hand, motioning for them to settle down. “Okay, okay. And you’re right, Mozzie, it sounds like there should be a punchline in here somewhere. But there’s not.” His tone sobered, and his fingers tightened around Neal’s. “It was tough for them back then –”

“Tough is an understatement.” Everyone looked to the doorway, where a lanky older man stood. Neal had never seen him before, but he recognized the voice as that of Chief Hughes, with whom he’d spoken at length on the phone.

“Chief,” Peter said, letting go of Neal’s hand and standing. Neal noticed that Jones stood as well, but the others stayed where they were, and one of the men even reached across the table for a roll. “Surprise inspection, or are you here for lunch?”

“I’m here for lunch,” Hughes replied, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “One of the most esteemed chefs in the city is cooking lunch for you men. Do you really think I’d pass up something like that?”

“Never.” Peter gave Hughes a sly grin, then turned to direct it at Neal with a bit of smolder added, and the younger man felt something stir deep in his belly. He wondered if Peter knew how appealing he was, even when he wasn’t completely trying for it. “Neal, this is Battalion Chief Reese Hughes. Reese, Neal Caffrey.” Neal stood and offered his hand.

“Cap’s boyfriend,” Blake chimed in from the table, where he was munching on a roll. 

“Neal.” Hughes shook Neal’s hand. “Thank you for offering to do this. Your generosity and gratitude are appreciated.”

“Thank you for agreeing to it, sir.” 

Hughes gave him a nod and a small smile before turning back to Peter. “Boyfriend, huh? Apparently, I need to drop by more often.”

“It’s a recent development.” Peter wrapped an arm around Neal’s shoulders and pulled him close. To Neal’s surprise, Hughes’ smile widened as he watched the two of them together, and he motioned for them to sit back down.

“Glad to hear it.” Hughes sat down in a chair near them. “So, I interrupted your story. Please continue.”

“Maybe you should tell it,” Peter said softly. “You lived it.”

“I did.” Hughes looked around the room at the other men, many of whom were nodding their encouragement. “Okay, let’s see. I’m not sure how much you’ve told, but it sounded like you were pretty close to the beginning.” When Peter nodded, Hughes steepled his fingers under his chin and picked up the story.

“Well, as Peter was saying, it wasn’t easy back then. We were a new house, so we still didn’t have a nickname, and the others had taken to calling us the Limbo Brigade or the Hellbound Train, because they thought we were all sinners and we were going straight to hell.” He gave them a small smirk.

“Now, Bancroft grew up living next to railroad tracks, and the rhythm of those trains used to put him to sleep every night, so he kind of latched on to the whole train thing, but he flipped it and started referring to us as the Pride Train. Kept telling us we should be proud of who we were and how far we’d made it in the department.

“And as simple as it sounds, that worked. We started taking pride in the fact that we were this band of misfits, and we were constantly striving to be the best. We started winning inter-department skills competitions and intramural games, things like that.” Hughes paused and glanced over at Peter. When Neal looked over at his boyfriend – his _boyfriend_ – Peter was watching Hughes closely, a subdued expression on his face. He’d obviously heard the story before and knew that something less encouraging was coming up. As Hughes finally started to speak again, Neal turned his attention back to the chief.

“It shouldn’t come as a surprise that our success pissed off a lot of people. We started finding graffiti painted on the bay doors – racist, homophobic, anti-Semitic – and they broke out the windows on our personal vehicles, flattened our tires. We always had to leave in pairs because there were several assaults…” He trailed off and stared hard at Neal, who realized he was gaping and slowly closed his mouth.

“We kept pushing on, though. Just made us more determined. And Kyle Bancroft was the perfect man to lead us. His mother was a civil rights activist, so he knew how to deal with most of what we were getting, and he helped us keep our heads held high. I only saw it get to him once. Some of them realized who his mother was, and they painted something about her on the front of the building. I won’t say what, because I refuse to use language so vile.” He let out a little shudder that barely passed his shoulders.

“We started cleaning it off as soon as we reported it, and I noticed that Captain Bancroft had disappeared. Found him up here in the office. He was…in tears. Outside of September 11, it was the only time I ever saw the man cry.” Hughes’ voice softened, and he dropped his hands to his lap. “He said, ‘I usually don’t let it get to me, Reese. But that’s my mother. Why would they bring her into this?’ He just couldn’t comprehend it. Neither could I. I sat there with him until he pulled himself together, and then we went back outside and cleaned it off, just like every other time. If anything, it only made us work even harder to be the best from there on out.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, letting the story sink in. Peter squeezed Neal’s hand, and when he looked over, he saw that the other man had dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. When Neal squeezed back, Peter opened his eyes and looked over at him, giving him a soft smile that melted away the heartache from Hughes’ story.

“But,” Hughes finally continued, sounding much more upbeat, “I didn’t come here to depress you all. It took time, but things changed for the better. They still are changing. I mean, look at us – Bancroft is the borough commander, I’m a battalion chief, two of our other former officers are battalion chiefs. Our current captain –” He grinned at Peter. “– is a gay non-religious lapsed Catholic.” He turned his attention to Jones. “One of our lieutenants is African-American and non-Catholic. And another, who’s on night tour, is a bi-racial atheist lesbian. And that’s just the six-fives. None of Engine 101’s officers fit the standard FDNY mold either, nor do many of our firefighters. The progress we’ve made since those early days is mind-boggling.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Peter said. Neal was surprised by the strength in his voice. “The commissioner marched with us in the pride parade last year. If that’s not proof of how far we’ve come, I don’t know what is.”

The others murmured their assent, and now that the somber mood from Hughes’ story was dissipating, everyone seemed to relax. A few of the men, including Hughes, helped themselves to rolls. Neal, though, simply sat there and thought about what he’d heard. There was an ache deep in his chest at the thought of so many brave men being viciously harassed by others who were supposed to be their brothers. He wondered if Peter had been the victim of any of it, but he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to ask.

“Neal.” Mozzie’s voice pulled him back to the present. After giving Peter’s hand another squeeze, Neal got up to join his friend in the kitchen. He checked the chicken and pilaf and started on the final preparations, while Mozzie worked on setting the table and putting out the drinks, three different flavors of fruit-infused sparkling water prepared by Neal himself.

The friendly banter between the firefighters combined with the constant chatter from the scanner provided a comforting din, not unlike that of a restaurant. It made Neal relax even more, so that by the time he started plating the food, he was in full-on professional mode. He and Mozzie moved easily around each other, sure of themselves as they took care of everything in a well-practiced dance. In a matter of minutes, everyone was served, and the two of them were able to stand back and catch their breath.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Mozzie said softly.

“Yeah, Moz. I’ve missed this.” Neal grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. They watched as the men started to dig in to their meals, and thankfully, all of the rumblings coming from the table seemed to be positive ones.

“Hey, aren’t you two going to eat?” Peter called to them. He nodded toward an empty chair beside him, but Neal shook his head.

“Later. Right now, we’re here to serve you.” The words were out before Neal realized what he was saying, and Peter was quick to pick up on the double entendre. He stared at Neal, his gaze darkening, and licked his lips. The others, most already absorbed in trying the food, didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re a chef, not a waiter,” Hughes said from his spot at the end of the table. “We’re used to helping ourselves anyway. Why don’t you gentlemen join us?” Neal opened his mouth to demur, but Hughes waved him off. “Please.”

After exchanging a look with Mozzie, who gave him a nod, they started making plates for themselves and were soon seated with the rest of the group, Neal right beside Peter, and Mozzie at the other end of the table near Hughes.

“This is so good,” Blake said around a mouthful of chicken, and a few of the others chimed in with similar sentiments. It was a relief to Neal, who’d figured the chicken would go over well but wasn’t as sure about the quinoa. Everyone seemed to be eating it, though, and rather enthusiastically. 

There was quite a bit of chatter going on around the table as they ate, both serious and teasing. Neal loved watching everyone enjoy his cooking and getting to hear Peter exchange banter with his friends. They quickly welcomed Neal into the fray, and he vaguely noticed that Mozzie was involved in a lively – but friendly, by the looks of it – conversation with Hughes and Graham.

“This is amazing, Neal,” Peter said softly, leaning over so Neal could hear him over everyone else. “You are amazing.” His free hand came to rest on Neal’s thigh under the table, and Neal almost jumped at the unexpected touch. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it so much.” Neal gave him a sweet smile, and as Peter returned it, his fingers ran up the inside of Neal’s thigh. Neal managed to stifle a gasp, but he shifted in his seat, his eyes darting around to see if anyone else had picked up on what was happening.

Peter’s fingers stilled, and again, he whispered next to Neal’s ear. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, let me know, and I’ll stop. I just – your competence, watching you cook, that outfit, all of it – _really_ turns me on.”

A smile started to spread across Neal’s face, but before he could answer, Jones waved at them from across the table to get their attention. “Okay, you two, what’s going on over there? Hands on top of the table, Burke.”

Peter’s hand immediately moved back above the table, and there was a slight blush on his neck that probably matched the one Neal could feel starting on his cheeks. Before either of them could respond to Jones’ friendly teasing, though, another voice chimed in from the other end of the table.

“Ah, leave ‘em alone, L.T. They’re in love.” It was Price, one of the men who’d help carry Neal’s supplies up the stairs, but who hadn’t spoken much since then. His words startled Neal, and he glanced over at Peter, only to see him giving the other man an uncertain look.

“In love?” Jones said, looking between them before turning to Price. “They’ve been on what, one date?”

Price shrugged and gave Neal a knowing look. “Doesn’t matter. I fell in love with Tony on our first date, and we’ve been together for…god, has it been twenty-four years? Wow. And married for three of those. I’m telling you, the way I saw Cap looking at Neal earlier? That’s the way my husband looks at me, hand to God.”

It took Neal a moment to realize that the rest of the conversation at the table had ceased, and everyone’s eyes were moving from him and Peter to Jones to Price and back again. He knew they were waiting for a response, but he was speechless.

 _Love_.

It couldn’t really be that simple, could it? He wondered if what Price had said was true, not so much about the love part itself, but about the fact that they were openly displaying something that looked like love to those around them.

Peter cleared his throat to speak, but before he could say anything, a loud high-low tone came through a speaker on the wall, followed by a mechanical voice saying, “Engine…ladder.”

A chorus of groans came from the firefighters, and they immediately stood. Blake and Graham shoveled a few more bites of food into their mouths, while the others headed for the pole near the far corner of the room.

“All aboard,” Jones called, planting a hand on Blake’s shoulder and ushering him away from the table. “Come on, Stretch, we’ll warm it up later.”

One by one, the men slid down the pole as Neal watched in total fascination. He’d only ever seen something like that on TV and wasn’t even sure the poles were used anymore. Within thirty seconds, he, Peter, Mozzie, and Hughes were the only ones left in the room.

“Staying here?” he asked Peter.

“Yeah, still on light duty, remember? I’ll have another eval next week, but for now, I’m stuck here.” He gave Neal a wink. “With you.”

“Will they be out a while?” Mozzie asked. “If so, we’ll wrap everything up and reheat it when they get back.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Hughes answered with a nod. “It’s a working fire, not just an automatic alarm or something simple, so it’ll take some time.”

It didn’t take Neal and Mozzie long to cover each of the plates with plastic wrap – including their own, as they decided to wait to finish the meal with the rest of the men. Mozzie, who had an eidetic memory, put sticky notes on the plastic wrap with the name of each firefighter. Neal found spots for the plates in the refrigerator, as well as for the extra food they’d made in case anyone wanted seconds.

Once everything in the kitchen was taken care of, Neal looked for Peter, only to find the man standing nearby, watching him closely. He gave Neal a questioning look and nodded in the direction of the hallway. Neal couldn’t help smiling, knowing what Peter was implying.

“Hey, Chief, if you and Mozzie are okay out here, we’re going to go back and relax until the guys get back.”

Hughes huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Relax, huh? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” A faint smile played across his lips. “Go. Mozzie and I were actually in the middle of a fascinating conversation about secret societies before the tones went off.” The smile disappeared, and he gave Peter a cautioning look. “Just remember who you are and where you are, _captain_.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I reserve the right to check in on you at any time.”

“Of course, sir.”

Hughes let out a sigh and motioned for Mozzie to sit on the sofa. This was apparently enough of a dismissal for Peter, who took Neal by the hand and made a beeline for his office. Once inside, he closed the door and the blinds, though Neal noticed that he left the door unlocked.

Wanting to get a little more comfortable, Neal reached up to start undoing the snaps on his coat, but Peter’s hands wrapped around his and stilled them.

“May I?”

“Sure.” Neal gave Peter’s fingers a quick squeeze before dropping his hands, resting them idly on Peter’s hips. Peter unsnapped the coat carefully, as if he was handling something sacred. Neal had known he’d probably want to remove the coat at some point, but he hadn’t wanted to get too warm in the kitchen either, so he’d worn only a t-shirt underneath, dusky blue and lightweight. As Peter slowly revealed it, Neal could see the desire warring with discretion in the other man’s eyes.

Peter slipped the coat off of his shoulders and draped it over the chair beside the door, then gave Neal a thorough once-over.

“God, Neal.” Peter rested his hands on Neal’s flat stomach. “If the chief wasn’t here…” He slid his hands up to Neal’s chest, thumbs skimming over his nipples, and Neal gasped at the rush of sensation. It had been so long since someone he had genuine feelings for – and he wasn’t even sure he’d ever felt this strongly for anyone – touched him with such intent. 

But for as much as Neal wanted things to continue, Chief Hughes’ words were still fresh in his mind. The last thing he wanted to do was threaten Peter’s chances at a promotion or worse, so he desperately tried to will his body to settle.

“Peter…”

“I know.” Peter sighed and gave him a quick kiss, then closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Neal’s. They wrapped their arms around each other and just stood there as a peaceful minute passed. “Hmm. How’s your self-control?” Peter finally asked. “We could go lay down and relax, talk, maybe make out.”

“ _My_ self-control?” Neal chuckled and backed away far enough to give Peter a teasing look. “Remind me again who just took off my jacket and put his hands all over my chest.”

“ _Touché_.” Peter took Neal by the hand and led him over to the bed. Before they sat down, though, Neal tugged gently at the front of Peter’s uniform shirt.

“Should I return the favor?”

“Be my guest.” Peter held his arms out away from his sides, and Neal wasted no time unbuttoning the shirt. Peter helped him pull it out of his waistband before draping it over the back of his desk chair. He sat down on the edge of the bed, then swung his long legs up and stretched out on top of the covers, looking more appetizing than he should have.

“Care to join me?” Peter patted the bed beside him, and that was all the invitation Neal needed. He laid down facing Peter on the narrow bed and propped himself up on one arm.

“You know, had I known it would end with us in bed together, I would have asked to cook for you guys a lot sooner.” 

“Are you kidding? I would have agreed to this without the lunch.” Peter actually waggled his eyebrows, and Neal couldn’t help laughing. He put a hand on Peter’s hip and leaned in to kiss him, light and mostly innocent. Peter seemed to have gotten himself under control, though, and he simply smiled against Neal’s lips after the kiss ended.

They lay there for a moment, doing nothing more than enjoying the closeness, before Peter broke the silence.

“So, uh, about what Jim Price said…” His voice was oddly neutral, and Neal wasn’t sure what to make of it. He couldn’t tell if Peter had been bothered by the statement or agreed with it, and he worried about saying the wrong thing. 

“Yeah?”

Peter ran his fingers down Neal’s arm. “Look, I’m sorry if he made you feel uncomfortable.”

Neal glanced away and again considered how to respond. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted. “I don’t think it really made me uncomfortable. I – I guess it just surprised me that…” He trailed off and looked back into Peter’s eyes, only to find that they were now filled with relief, maybe a little hope.

“That that’s what we’re putting out there?”

“Exactly.” Neal allowed a small smile. “So I’m not the only one?”

“No.” This time, it was Peter who looked away. “I just – it’s something I take pretty seriously. I mean, I’ve had my share of relationships, before and after I came out. Not that I sleep around or jump right from one to the next or anything. My last relationship was about a year ago, but it didn’t last more than a few weeks.” He seemed to realize he was rambling and paused, looking as though he was gathering his thoughts.

“What happened?” Neal asked softly, anxiety starting to work its way into his stomach. Peter’s answer only served to intensify the feeling.

“It was me. I broke up with him because he wanted more, and I didn’t. I don’t believe in staying with someone just for the sake of having a boyfriend. If we give it a chance, and my feelings for them aren’t strong enough, it’s not worth it to waste their time or mine, you know? So I break it off.”

 _Oh_. Neal looked away, suddenly feeling sick. He forced himself to stay where he was, though he wanted to get up and pace or plead his case or something. Anything. Swallowing back the tightness that was starting to work its way from his stomach up into his chest, he broke the brief silence that had fallen between them.

“So, um, where does that leave us? I mean, I know it hasn’t been very long, but I thought…” As Neal trailed off, he risked looking back up at Peter, only to find the man staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Oh, no. Wait, that’s not what – Christ, I can be a dumbass sometimes.” One corner of Peter’s mouth curved in a self-conscious grimace. “Just bear with me for a minute. What I was trying to say before I jammed my foot into my mouth is that I don’t throw that word around lightly, so it kind of caught me off-guard when Price said it. I – I’ve only really been in love once before, and he died as a result of that love.” Peter’s voice grew soft, and his gaze flickered away. “And Jim Price is very well aware of that, so for him to say something like that…it just really threw me.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Neal felt like he should say something more, but he was still trying to process Peter’s words. _He died as a result of that love._

“I just don’t want to mess anything up,” Peter said in a near-whisper that pulled Neal out of his thoughts. He held his breath, almost afraid to move or do anything that would distract Peter from what he was trying to say. Peter’s eyes drifted down to Neal’s chest before finally coming back up. “Neal, I’m not even sure what the hell is going on here, and it kind of – it fucking scares me, okay?”

“Can I ask why?” Neal asked cautiously, bracing himself for an answer which very well could be one he didn’t want to hear. 

“Why I’m scared?” When Neal nodded, a brief flash of panic crossed Peter’s face before he schooled it away. “Because I – I don’t think I’ve ever felt as strongly for anyone as I do for you.” It came out in a rush, and Neal could see a dark red flush working its way up Peter’s neck. “And because it’s way too early to say something like that.” He took a deep breath. “And because you’re not out, and I don’t date guys who are in the closet. Except for you. With you, I didn’t even give it a second thought because whatever’s going on here is so damn strong that I can’t ignore it. Not that I wanted to ignore it anyway.” After another cleansing breath, Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “I really should shut up now.”

Neal took a long moment to process everything Peter had said, while at the same time watching his boyfriend’s body language. It was clear that Peter was nervous about how Neal would react, but at the same time, there was a kind of cocky jut to his chin, a challenge of sorts, and a confidence in his eyes that actually inspired a similar reaction in Neal himself.

“Well, if it helps,” he finally said, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone either, but I’m willing to see where it leads if you are. And I’m not planning to stay in the closet for the rest of my life.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, but to Neal’s relief, his mouth quirked up into a smile. “Really? What about your boss?”

Neal groaned, resting his hand on Peter’s chest. “Honestly? I’d really rather not bring him up when we’re in bed together.”

“We are in bed together, aren’t we? Wow.” Peter chuckled, visibly relaxing. 

“We are,” Neal teased. He scratched lightly at Peter’s chest through his shirt. “I do need to answer your question, though. And I’ve definitely thought about coming out, but I know he’ll ruin me professionally if I do. I’ve had a great career so far. I’ve been living a pretty comfortable life. And I’ve done my share of dating, but I hadn’t ever found anyone worth giving up the life I have.” He purposely made it a past-tense statement, curious to see if Peter caught it. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Peter eyed him closely for a moment before giving him a sly smile. “So, do you think you’ll ever find him?”

“I think,” Neal said, his voice low, “there’s a _very_ good possibility of that happening.” His hand slipped down and around to Peter’s hip, and he pulled the other man against him. His lips ghosted over Peter’s, barely touching. “Soon.”

Peter let out soft moan, then kissed him gently, his fingers brushing over Neal’s jaw. He rolled onto his back on the narrow bed, and Neal followed, ending up partly on top of him. They kept the kisses light, flirty, and it was intoxicating. Neal couldn’t help smiling against Peter’s lips, which made Peter chuckle, a deep rumble that sent a delicious shiver through Neal’s body. He kissed his way up Peter’s jaw to nuzzle the spot in front of his ear.

“You are so sexy,” he whispered, sliding his hand down over Peter’s chest. Peter growled and turned his head to kiss Neal again, but when Neal shifted to meet him, the older man suddenly tensed as if in pain. “What?” Neal pulled his hand away and pushed himself up to get a better look at Peter’s face. “Peter, what?”

“Mmm. Nothing.” Peter opened his eyes and shook his head. “It’s – I’m okay.”

“Yeah, it didn’t look that way,” Neal said, concerned.

With a resigned sigh, Peter pulled the hem of his t-shirt out of his pants and slipped it up to his chest, revealing bruises around his stomach and ribs that were faded but still dark enough to be obvious.

Neal gasped and tentatively ran his fingers over the worst of them. “Oh god, Peter.” His heart sank at the realization that the bruising was from the jump Peter made to save his life.

“It’s alright.” Peter tugged the shirt back down. “Looks worse than it feels, but there are a couple of spots around the bottom of my ribcage that are still sore.” He wrapped an arm around Neal’s shoulders and pulled him back down to lay beside him.

“Is that why you’re still on light duty?”

“Yeah. It’s really not that bad, though. I should be out there.” Peter sighed and brushed his lips over Neal’s forehead. They fell into an easy silence, punctuated only by the soft chatter from the scanner on Peter’s desk. Though he wasn’t particularly tired, Neal felt himself drifting a little, lulled by the muted thump of Peter’s heartbeat and the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt. He probably would have fallen asleep if not for something from the scanner that caught Peter’s attention.

“Shit,” Peter said softly, giving Neal’s arm a pat. “We need to get up. They’re coming back, and I should head downstairs.”

Neal pushed himself to the edge of the bed and stood. Peter did the same, and then in a move that was endearingly modest, stepped away and turned his back before undoing his pants to tuck in his undershirt. As he started on his uniform shirt, he glanced over at Neal and raised his eyebrows.

“You planning on putting your…thing back on?” He nodded at Neal’s chef coat on the chair beside the door, and Neal shook his head.

“Thought I’d leave it off for now.”

“Yeah, probably more comfortable.” Peter cocked his head thoughtfully for a moment, then reached into his locker and pulled out a quilted jacket. “Might want to wear this for now, though. It’ll be chilly downstairs with the bay doors open.”

“Um, okay, sure.” Peter held the jacket open in front of him, a silent offer to help Neal into it. Neal stepped over and slipped an arm into one sleeve, then the other, and Peter settled the jacket on his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around Neal from behind and nuzzled his ear.

“I like this,” he murmured. “You in my clothes.”

Neal grinned. “I do, too. It’s like I’m wearing your varsity jacket.”

Peter chuckled and backed away, keeping one arm wrapped around Neal’s shoulder. “We should get out there. I’m surprised the chief hasn’t come looking for us already. I’ll give you a quick tour of the rest of the station, and then we’ll head downstairs.” He gave Neal a wink. “And if you want, I can even show you how to, uh, slide down the pole.”

Neal couldn’t help laughing at the double entendre. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He turned in Peter’s arms and was just about to kiss him when Peter pulled back and nodded in the direction of the door. Sure enough, there was a quick knock, and the door swung open to reveal Chief Hughes.

“Just on our way out, Chief,” Peter said before the man had a chance to speak. “I’m going to give Neal a quick tour, and then we’re heading downstairs.”

Hughes stood there for a few seconds, taking them both in as they stood side by side, arms around each other, Neal wearing Peter’s jacket. “Okay, Burke,” he finally said. “Good enough for me.” He watched them for another moment, then shrugged.

“How’s Mozzie?” Neal asked, surprised he hadn’t heard from his friend in so long.

“Oh, he’s…intriguing.” Hughes arched an eyebrow. “He’s quite the encyclopedia of conspiracy theories. We’ve been through everything from HAARP to the Reichstag fire.” He gave them a pinched, but genuine, smile. “I think he’s impressed that I can keep up.” With a small wave, he disappeared through the door.

“Shall we?” Peter gestured to the open door, then gave Neal a quick kiss before leading him out of the office.

They made a quick trip through the second floor of the fire station, including the showers and locker room, the restrooms, the workout area, and even the bunkroom across the hall from the offices, where the rest of the firefighters slept when they got a chance. As with the dining and lounge area, there was a brass pole in the bunkroom.

“So, what do you think?” Peter asked, motioning toward it. “Want to give it a shot?”

“Absolutely! I’m not going to get you in trouble, am I?”

“No, not unless you fall on your ass and sue the department.” He gave Neal a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll show you first. You’ll be fine.”

“Let’s do it.”

Peter opened the metal gate that surrounded the pole and put one hand on the polished brass. He pointed to what looked like a system of metal flaps at the bottom of the pole. “Okay, it’s really not that complicated. Those shutters down there will open when you put weight on the pole, like so.” He wrapped his arms and legs around the pole, transferring all of his weight to it, and the flaps sprung open to reveal the floor below. When he stepped back off, the shutters closed.

“Now, the key is to control your descent with your legs. Your arms are only there to keep your upper body against the pole.” He showed Neal how to wrap his right leg around the pole, with his foot on one side and knee on the other, then swung his left leg around, still holding himself in place. “Squeeze your thighs together around the pole, and just let your arms follow you down. Keep your head close to the pole so you don’t clip it on the shutters.” Peter hung there, suspended in mid-air, the shutters open below him. And though he was trying to hide it, Neal could tell that the pain from the older man’s ribs was starting to get to him.

“Got it,” he said quickly, hoping Peter would either go down or let him go. The last thing he wanted was for the demonstration to cause Peter further injury.

“Alright.” Peter stepped off to give himself a quick break. “I’ll go down first and then talk you down from below. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” Neal leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Peter smirked at him. “On this? God, I’d never hear the end of it.” With a grin, he hopped back onto the pole. “See you on the flip side. And remember, use your legs.” And just like that, Peter was gone, sliding effortlessly down the pole to land on the mat below.

Not wanting to spend too much time in a room where, without Peter there, he felt like an interloper, Neal carefully wrapped his legs around the pole. As the shutters opened below him, he curled his right arm around the pole, as he’d seen Peter do, and held on loosely with his left hand.

“Looking good,” Peter called from below. “Come on down – not too fast.”

Taking a deep breath, Neal unclenched his legs just a bit and slid down the pole to land gracefully on the mat. It was over almost before he realized he’d done it, and he could hear applause from at least three different places in the firehouse.

“That was perfect!” Peter pulled him into a back-slapping hug, and Neal let out a relieved laugh. He was usually pretty good at every new thing he tried, but it didn’t make him any less thankful that he hadn’t made a fool out of himself in front of Peter. The older man backed away and looked toward the stairs. “What do you think, Chief? Is he hired?” Neal turned to find Chief Hughes and Mozzie watching from halfway down the steps. Mozzie looked vaguely proud, while the chief’s expression was more neutral.

“If we hired him, you’d never get anything done,” Hughes grumbled, though his expression left little doubt that he was teasing. “Now get him up here and get your ass in gear. They’re just down the block.”

“10-4, sir.” Peter turned back to Neal with a grin. “Time to go to work. You’ll need to wait on the stairs with Mozzie and the chief.” He stepped away and looked Neal up and down. “God, you look good in my jacket.” After slipping his hands down around Neal’s and giving them a quick squeeze, Peter sent him off toward the stairs and headed over to open the bay doors.

As Neal joined Mozzie and Hughes on the stairs, the older man gestured toward Peter’s jacket. “So, does this mean you’re going steady?”

“I hope so, sir,” Neal replied, flashing a confident smile. He took his place beside Mozzie, who was eyeing the jacket with some disdain, then turned his attention back to Peter. And though he wouldn’t necessarily have expected it, seeing the other man in action was actually something of a turn on. Peter moved around the bays with the confidence of a born leader as he coordinated with the house watch and prepped for the arrival of the trucks, both of which pulled up outside the building within the minute.

The men on the trucks jumped out, a couple of them stopping traffic to give the trucks room to back in. The ladder truck came in first, followed quickly by the engine, and Neal noticed Peter grabbing some kind of big hose and hooking it to each truck. Before he could ask Hughes what was going on, the man offered an explanation.

“Exhaust removal system. Keeps the diesel fumes out of our quarters – and our lungs.”

Neal nodded an acknowledgement, but he was engrossed in watching his boyfriend making the rounds. Peter shook hands with each of the firefighters and gave Jones a quick back-slapping hug, then jumped in to help with some of the equipment. Neal jammed his hands into the pockets of Peter’s jacket, pulling the extra fabric tight around him. It smelled faintly of Peter, and Neal inhaled deeply, the corners of his mouth turning up into a helpless grin.

Peter was so absorbed in what he was doing that, for a few minutes, it almost seemed like he’d forgotten about Neal. But then he paused for a moment at the side of the ladder truck, glanced up at Neal, and broke into a smile so bright that it made Neal’s breath catch. It was quick, reassuring, and then Peter went back to what he was doing. But it was enough to warm Neal from his head to his toes. 

It didn’t take long for them to get everything in order, and as the other firefighters headed back up the stairs, Peter slipped his hand into Neal’s. Neither of them spoke, but Neal could feel Peter practically vibrating with excitement, maybe a bit of tempered adrenaline. 

While the firefighters washed up, Neal and Mozzie reheated their food and put everything back out on the table. They quickly settled back into a steady stream of conversation, though this time, it was about the call they’d just run. Peter’s attitude shifted into that of his role as the department’s captain, but he still tried to include Neal, explaining things as needed – and keeping his leg pressed against Neal’s under the table. It was comforting, Peter’s subtle way of saying that even though he wasn’t being as flirty as he was before the call, Neal was still at the front of his mind.

As they finished eating, the topic switched to firehouse traditions, namely the one about how those who didn’t cook were responsible for the clean-up. So as the firefighters washed and dried the dishes and packed everything back into the carts, Neal and Mozzie got to sit back and relax with cups of coffee brewed by Chief Hughes himself.

Though he would have been perfectly happy spending the day with Peter at the firehouse, Neal knew he and Mozzie would soon have to leave for a meeting with Adler, where they were expected to offer their suggestions for rebuilding Enigma. He needed to make a quick pit stop before leaving, and as he washed his hands, the restroom door swung open to reveal Jim Price. The man immediately approached him, hands in his pockets and a somewhat sheepish look on his face.

“Hey, look,” he said, “I just wanted to apologize if I freaked you out earlier. I saw how you guys were looking at each other, and I sort of forgot that you haven’t known one another very long.”

Neal shook his head. “Thanks, but it’s fine. Still not sure what to make of it yet…” When Price cocked his head, Neal took a deep breath and decided to elaborate. “We didn’t realize that’s what we were putting out there.”

“Ah.” Price nodded and glanced away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “It’s just that I’ve known Peter for a long time, and I haven’t seen him this happy since – well, in years. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s him. Anyways, I hope it works out for you two. Peter…he’s a real catch, you know? He’ll be a great husband for someone someday.” With that, he clapped Neal on the shoulder and headed over to the urinal at the far end of the row, obviously not looking for a reply.

Neal, stunned by the man’s words, wasn’t even sure what he could have said anyway. With no reason to linger while Price was taking care of business, he left the bathroom and went back to the kitchen, only to find that their carts were already being carried down the stairs. Mozzie, who seemed to be supervising the whole operation, paused next to him for a moment.

“Go get your coat,” Mozzie said, waving a hand at Peter’s jacket. Though it was warm enough upstairs for him to be comfortable in his t-shirt, Neal hadn’t been able to bring himself to shed the quilted jacket, and he simply pushed up the sleeves when he got too hot. 

Peter came up and draped an arm over Neal’s shoulders before leading him back to the office to get his things.

“I almost don’t want to take this back,” Peter admitted as he ran his palms down the front of his jacket. Smiling softly, he slipped his hands inside the open front and around to Neal’s back, tugging him close. “It looks amazing on you.” He brushed his lips over Neal’s. “ _You_ look amazing.”

“Mmm. Thanks, so do you.” Neal own hands were spread out across Peter’s broad back, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go. “Is it possible to have a uniform kink that only applies to one person?”

Peter laughed. “I hope so.” He backed away far enough to run his hands up Neal’s body, slipping the jacket from his shoulders. As Neal donned his chef coat and fastened the snaps, Peter put on the jacket he’d just taken back from Neal, then helped Neal into his winter coat. “Sure you can’t stay?”

“I wish I could.” Neal stepped in close and brushed a thumb over Peter’s jaw. “You make it really hard to leave.”

“Well, I can at least walk you out.” He held out a hand, and Neal took it, weaving his fingers through Peter’s. They took the stairs this time and found the rest of the firefighters standing just inside the back door. They’d already loaded the carts into the van, which Mozzie was warming up. The men thanked Neal for the meal and suggested that he return as soon as possible, this time so they could cook for him. Apparently, shopping for, preparing, and sitting down to a communal meal was a deep-rooted firehouse tradition.

After promising to return as soon as he could and shaking hands, Neal let Peter lead him outside. They stopped just beyond the door, and Peter wrapped Neal up in a cozy hug, helping shield him from the winter chill.

“I guess this is it,” Peter said with a sigh.

“Until Saturday,” Neal reminded him, running his hands up and down Peter’s back, planting a gentle kiss on the older man’s neck.

“Mmm, yeah.” Peter leaned back far enough to look him in the eyes. “Still okay with meeting me there?”

Neal cocked his head and grinned. “I probably should. If I meet you at your place, or you meet me at mine…”

“We’ll never make it to Halligan’s.” When Neal nodded, Peter’s smile went a little sly. “And as much as I’d be good with that, I think we should go. It’ll give you a chance to hang out and be yourself with people who respect that – and who won’t let anything go beyond those walls.”

Neal knew exactly what Peter meant. He could be completely open there without having to worry about word getting back to Adler. He nodded and squeezed Peter’s hands. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good, good.” Peter leaned back into him, his lips next to Neal’s ear. “And maybe, you know…bring a toothbrush.” He mouthed at Neal’s earlobe, sending a shiver through the younger man that had nothing to do with the cold. “Change of clothes. Overnight bag. Something like that.”

“Something like that,” Neal breathed, shifting far enough to capture Peter’s lips with his own. The kiss was wonderful, light and a little flirty, and Peter tasted of the food Neal had cooked for him. But then Mozzie revved the engine, Peter snorted a laugh that Neal couldn’t help echoing, and the moment was lost.

“I think that’s a hint.” Peter pulled away, a rueful grin on his face.

“Yeah, we need to make that meeting with the boss.” After giving Peter’s fingers another squeeze, Neal backed away. “Saturday.”

“Saturday. And Neal? Thanks for today. For everything.”

“Yeah. You, too.” Neal reluctantly backed away from Peter, and with a little wave, headed over to the van. He slipped inside and put on his seatbelt, mumbling an apology to Mozzie. And though he knew he should be thinking about their upcoming meeting with Adler, the only thing on Neal’s mind was Saturday – the next time he’d see Peter. He’d just spent the entire day with the man, and he still couldn’t seem to get enough.

\-------------

As the cab pulled up outside Halligan’s, Neal took a deep breath and forced down a surge of nerves. He wanted this evening out with Peter, wanted it badly, but it had been a long time since he’d gone out with a boyfriend in the city. Though he wasn’t famous by any means, he’d become recognizable enough in recent years, especially in the restaurant industry, and he hadn’t wanted to risk it. But Peter had promised him that this place was exclusive and that he wouldn’t have to worry about someone outing him after seeing him there.

With that in mind, he let the anticipation push away the apprehension, paid the cab driver, and got out, his bag slung over his shoulder. Peter had said he’d be waiting to meet Neal and get him inside, and he wasn’t hard to find. He was standing with a couple of other men just outside the door, hands in the pockets of a brown leather bomber jacket with shearling trim, chatting and laughing and looking totally appetizing.

As Neal approached, Peter glanced up and caught sight of him. His whole face lit up with a smile that made Neal’s breath catch in his chest, and he jogged over to meet him.

“Hey!” Peter pulled Neal into a warm embrace. His lips brushed over Neal’s cheekbone as he pulled away and gave the younger man a once-over. “You look great.” 

“So do you.” Neal ran a hand down the sleeve of Peter’s jacket and grinned.

“Can I take your bag?” Peter gestured to Neal’s battered leather duffel.

Neal shook his head, one hand going instinctively to the strap. “No, I – I’d rather hang on to it for now.” He felt a little silly, but the bag had been his father’s, and they’d used it every time they’d taken a father-son trip. When his dad died, Neal had taken the bag and kept it for himself, hidden away and rarely used. Spending the night with Peter seemed like enough of a special occasion to use it, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of it just yet.

Thankfully, Peter just shrugged and took Neal’s free hand in his own. “Alright. Ready to head inside?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Neal squeezed Peter’s fingers and followed him to the door. The other men had already gone inside, but before Neal could ask about them, Peter led him out of the chilly evening air and into the building.

Once they’d checked in with the door guard, Peter tugged Neal around a corner into a dark hallway and cupped his face in both hands before giving him a long and rather indulgent kiss. All it took was the feel of Peter’s lips on his, the other man’s thumbs stroking his jaw, for the last of the nervous tension to go out of Neal. He leaned in, his hands going to Peter’s hips, and let Peter kiss the confidence back into him. 

“Mmm,” Peter hummed against his lips. “God, I needed that.”

“Me, too,” Neal admitted, backing away and grinning at him.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Peter took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then gestured to Neal’s bag. “If you need somewhere safe to keep that, we can lock it up in the back.”

“That would be perfect, yeah.” Neal followed Peter down the hallway and through a swinging door marked ‘Employees Only.’ There was a bank of lockers on one wall, and Peter helped Neal stow his bag in one of them, then locked it and handed the key to Neal.

“The manager, Jack Franklin, is a friend. Used to be with the Six-Fives before he got hurt. He lets us use the lockers if we need them.”

Neal nodded as he pocketed the key. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter gave him an understanding smile, as if he somehow knew that the bag had sentimental value, and that Neal wasn’t just worried about the things inside. “Ready?”

“I am.” Neal laced his fingers through Peter’s once again and let him lead him back out into the bar. He was immediately surprised by the fact that, instead of a dive, it looked to be a pretty nice place.

Off to one side was a well-lit, restaurant-style seating area. A large bar separated it from a darker area at the opposite side of the building, complete with a stage along one wall. There was a band setting up to play, but for the time being, Neal could hear a classic rock song he couldn’t quite place coming through the speakers.

Peter led them toward the darker area and over to a large corner table. Clinton Jones and Jim Price were sitting there with a man he didn’t recognize and two of the women from the video he’d seen online. As they approached, Jones stood and gave Peter a quick hug, then shook Neal’s hand and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Good to see you guys.” Jones motioned for them to sit, and then slid back in across from them. After they’d taken off their coats and stashed them in the corner seat with the others, there were quick introductions all around. Neal learned that the other man was Jim Price’s husband, Tony, and that the women were Peter’s other lieutenant, Diana Berrigan, and her wife, Sara Ellis.

“Isabelle still chaperoning that thing at the school?” Peter asked Jones.

“Yeah, she’s been texting me. This was an hour ago.” Jones handed his phone over to Peter, who held it so that he and Neal could both look at the photo on the screen, which showed a woman and young boy grinning at the camera. “Weekend-long charity dance-a-thon,” Jones explained. “That’s my wife, Isabelle, and our son, CJ. He’s ten.” Even in the darkness, Neal could see the love in Jones’ eyes as he took the phone back and peered at the photo. “I’ll be heading in for the back half tomorrow, so no hangover. I’m your DD tonight.”

“So this is the guy we’ve been hearing about?” Diana looked Neal up and down. “Not surprised.”

Peter let out a long sigh, and Neal looked from him to Diana and back. “What?”

“They think I have a type.”

“You _do_ have a type,” Sara said, rolling her eyes at him. “Blue eyes, dark hair, fit, leggy, smart, successful. Should I go on?”

“No,” Peter said with a chuckle. “I think we’ve heard enough.” He turned to Neal, grinning widely. “You hungry? They’ve got great food here.”

“I am, actually.” Since Peter had mentioned food in one of their text exchanges, Neal hadn’t had much to eat before he left. He’d need to have something to counter the alcohol, so he was eager to see what they had on the menu.

“You’re a world-class chef, man,” Jones said. “Can your stomach even handle greasy bar food?”

“Yeah, of course. I am so _not_ a food snob.” He grinned at the man across the table. “And this place actually looks pretty nice compared to some of the dives I’ve eaten in before.”

“It’s not all greasy anyway,” Peter offered, passing him a menu from the center of the table. “If I’m in the mood for something healthier than a burger and fries, I usually get one of the wraps, maybe some rice or steamed vegetables on the side.” Neal raised his eyebrows, but Peter simply gave him a convincing nod. “I’m totally serious. Grilled mahi wrap is my favorite, bar none.”

“They have something like that here? I know what I’m getting.”

Peter chuckled, his arm tightening around Neal. It felt good to be tucked firmly against the older man’s side, though Peter’s body heat and the warm, spicy scent of his cologne was making Neal’s head swim a little. He wanted to kiss Peter, to put his hands all over him, to know how that scent changed when mixed with the musk of arousal.

Jones signaled a waitress, and Neal’s attention temporarily shifted to ordering. They started with beer or wine while waiting for their food, a constant stream of chatter going around the table. Though Neal had worried about being left out, he found that the opposite was true, and he was able to easily slip into the conversation. It was surprisingly lacking in firefighting subjects; instead, they spoke of current events, and of their plans for marching in the summer’s pride parade, and of the live band and impending dancing.

Peter was right about the food, as Neal soon discovered. Both his wrap and vegetables were surprisingly good, as were the curly fries that Peter got with his own wrap, and which he insisted on sharing with Neal – or feeding to Neal. By the time they were done, they were on their third beers and Neal was snuggled so close that he was practically in Peter’s lap. As they let the food digest, the others gave them some light-hearted teasing, but it was clear that everyone at the table was happy for them.

“Hello, ladies!” Neal vaguely recognized the voice, but it wasn’t until he saw the source that he was able to place it. The crossdresser he’d seen in the video of Peter at the pride parade stopped by their table and gave them a little wave. “And Diana.”

“Shut it, Dee Dee,” Diana threw back, feigning indignance.

“Sweetie, don’t fight it. You know if you start on T, it’ll take care of these awful mood swings of yours. You’ll feel so much better once you set your true self free.”

“Yeah, only if you join me. Maybe more testosterone would get you out of those panties and into something a little more masculine.”

“Ooh,” Dee Dee cooed, pressing a palm to her ample bosom. “You want to get me out of my panties? Tell me more.” She leaned over the table and winked at Diana. “I didn’t know you were into chicks with dicks.” There were snorts of laughter around the table, and Peter’s body shook against Neal’s as he tried to keep from cracking up.

“Oh, Dee Dee,” Price chimed in. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about Sara’s legendary strap-on collection.”

“Shut up, Jim!” Sara threw a balled-up napkin at Price as everyone else, Neal included, broke into laughter. 

“You know, normally I’d take that and run with it,” Dee Dee said, “but I’m feeling a little mellow tonight, so instead, I’m going to let it go and get acquainted with this beautiful boy instead.” She laid a finger on Neal’s shoulder, then motioned for Jones to slide over and make room across the table from Neal and Peter.

“Dee Dee, this is my boyfriend, Neal Caffrey.” Neal picked up on the pride in Peter’s voice, and it made his heart swell. “And Neal, this is the illustrious Dee Dee Phoenix.”

“Charmed, lovely one.” Dee Dee held out a limp hand, palm down, and Neal took it in his own, just barely brushing his lips over the tops of her fingers.

“Likewise.” He gave her a grin, and Dee Dee returned it. 

“We’ve met before, though.” Neal couldn’t help doing a double take, and he squinted at the figure across the table, trying to mentally remove the makeup and wig. Something did seem oddly familiar about the eyes, but the only thing that came to mind was the video, which didn’t help at all.

Finally, though, Dee Dee let him off the hook, aiming a somewhat disgusted grimace around the table. “He was with that homophobic twatwaffle who signs his paychecks. And who not only implied that I’m gay, but called Peter a cocksucker and said he should burn in hell. Not very creative with his insults, that one.”

Neal’s jaw nearly came unhinged. He stared at Dee Dee, his brain still trying to reconcile the image of the buxom woman in front of him with the memory he had of meeting Dan Picah. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “That – you’re – that was _you_? You’re Dan?”

“Oh, no, sweet thing. Do I look like that poor schlub?” Dee Dee batted her eyelashes at him. “The person you met that day was Dan. But tonight, the person sitting right here in front of you is Dee Dee Phoenix, a majestic _bird_ –” she waggled her brows at Peter, who snickered, “– who rises, reborn, from the ashes of an annoyingly desperate fire marshal to set your world aflame!” The last few words were practically shouted, and Dee Dee flung her hands into the air with a flourish.

There was a smattering of applause from some of the surrounding tables. “Someone call the fire department,” a voice called from somewhere nearby.

“We _are_ the fire department,” Jones yelled back. Everyone laughed, and some of the firefighters at the other tables shouted out the numbers or mottos of their respective station houses.

“Well,” Peter said, his arm tightening around Neal. “At least he got the ‘cocksucker’ part right.”

“Oh, no. That’s an overshare, Boss.” Diana shot him a mock look of disapproval.

Though the beers had only left him slightly buzzed, Neal was feeling a little more bold than usual, especially considering how comfortable Peter’s friends were making him feel. “I don’t know,” he said, glancing from Diana to Peter. “I think I’d like to hear more about that.”

As a chorus of _oohs_ went around the table, Peter’s eyes locked with Neal’s, the lust in them fighting with amusement. He leaned in close, lips just barely brushing against Neal’s ear. “Would you be interested in a demonstration instead?” Before Neal could answer, Peter brought him into a kiss. It was light but lingering, and there might have been a low whistle from someone at the table, but Neal couldn’t tell for sure over the thundering of his pulse in his ears.

Peter was kissing him in front of his friends. In public. And not only was Neal kissing him back, but he wasn’t afraid. For the first time in his life, he was kissing another man in a place where any number of people could see them, and it felt amazing, freeing. 

“Okay?” Peter whispered against his lips.

Neal nodded. “Yeah. Beyond okay.” He leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder and finally glanced around the table at the others, all of whom were watching them with various expressions of kindness or even, at least in the case of Clinton Jones, outright fondness.

“So I hate to break the spell,” Jim Price said, “but if your boss is such an asshole, why do you still work for him? I mean, you’re obviously a great chef, and I’d bet there are places that would be happy to have you. So why stay there?” A few of the others around the table nodded in agreement.

Neal debated with himself for a moment, not sure he was ready to reveal his past to so many people he didn’t know very well. At the same time, it was an innocent and obvious question, and all of the people at the table were close friends of Peter. If Peter trusted them enough to bring Neal into their midst, then that was enough of an endorsement for him.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” he started, still leaning into Peter, whose arm was wrapped around his shoulders. “But the short version is that my dad died suddenly when I was twelve, and Mom and I were barely scraping by for a few years after that. She met Vincent Adler when I was sixteen, and they fell in love. They never got married, but he’s been kind of a mentor to me ever since. He agreed to pay for me to go to culinary school – which I never would have been able to afford without him – and I agreed to work for him when I graduated.” He took a deep breath, his gaze again traveling around the table, taking in the sympathy in Jones’ eyes, the dawning in Price’s.

“I guess I just never had a reason to leave. Vincent always made sure I had whatever I needed to succeed. Hell, he built Enigma with the intention of eventually turning it over to me. And he loved Mom. He treated her like she deserved to be treated. When she passed away, he could have distanced himself from me. I mean, Mom was my only connection to him, so he didn’t owe me anything. But he stayed, and we – we got each other through it.” Neal’s chest ached with the memory, and he swallowed hard. “I’m not defending or ignoring his homophobia, and it’s never been easy, trying to hide who I really am from him. But I just – I guess I feel like I owe him. And until recently, I haven’t really had a reason to look beyond that.”

There was silence around the table for a moment as everyone pondered what they’d heard. Neal hadn’t planned on revealing so much, but he was a little relieved that he had. Whether or not they agreed with him, they at least had a better understanding of why he hadn’t left.

“And now that I’ve totally killed the conversation,” he said, “I’ll be right back.” He gave Peter’s knee a quick squeeze, then slid out of the booth. Peter was quick to follow, touching Neal’s arm as they stood.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Neal told him with a smile. “Just need to get rid of some of this beer, especially if we’re going to be dancing.” And it was mostly the truth; he did have to go, but it also meant having a chance to catch his breath and regroup. 

“Sure.” Peter returned the smile. “We’ll head out to the dance floor when you get back.”

The corners of Neal’s mouth quirked up even farther. “Good. I’m really looking forward to seeing you dance.”

“Don’t knock it,” Dee Dee interjected. “Captain Sex Appeal actually has some moves.”

“Oh, I was serious,” Neal replied, his eyes never leaving Peter’s. “And with those legs, I don’t doubt it.” Without waiting for a response, he leaned in to give Peter a peck on the lips before making his way to the men’s room.

When he came back out, Peter was waiting for him in the narrow hallway, leaning against the wall and looking like something out of Neal’s dreams. “My turn,” he murmured, giving Neal’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You sure you’re okay? That was kind of a tough story.”

“I’m fine, Peter. I’m here with you, I’m having a great time, and I’m ready to see those moves of yours.” He gave Peter a wink, and the other man seemed to relax, letting out a relieved sigh.

“Wait here.” Peter let his fingers trail down Neal’s arm before disappearing into the restroom. When he emerged, they made their way out onto the dance floor, hand in hand. The live band had been playing classic rock music – the particular theme for that night, according to Peter. They were just finishing a song as Peter led Neal to an open spot on the floor.

“Okay,” the lead singer called out. “Where’s Peter Burke? Gimme a wave, Captain Six-Five.” Peter gave Neal a curious look before turning his gaze to the singer and waving. “Ah, there he is! Peter, this one’s for you and your man, courtesy of the Pride Train.”

The lead guitarist started picking a melody that sounded familiar to Neal, though he couldn’t place it. As the singer joined in on an acoustic guitar, Peter broke into a huge grin.

“Oh, they didn’t.” His eyes lit up, and he took Neal’s other hand. “They did. Dance with me?”

“Of course.” Since this was Peter’s territory, Neal found himself more than happy to let Peter lead. As they started to dance to the laid back melody, the reason for Peter’s reaction became apparent in the lyrics.

_“Dance with me, I want to be your partner. Can’t you see the music is just starting? Night is calling, and I am falling, dance with me…”_

As they swayed in time to the music, Neal relaxed and gave himself over to all of it. To the song and the warmth of Peter’s hand wrapped around his, the smell of Peter’s cologne and the pure happiness in his brown eyes. Peter had worn dark jeans and a blue button-down, top buttons open to reveal a neck that Neal just wanted to worship, and he looked positively delicious. Neal ran his hand up over Peter’s bicep, then pulled him closer until their bodies were pressed lightly against each other. His hand slipped around to the back of Peter’s neck, and Peter’s moved to the small of Neal’s back.

“Mmm, that’s better,” Neal breathed, brushing his lips over Peter’s jaw. “You look great, by the way.”

“So do you.” Peter grinned at him. Before he had a chance to elaborate, Dee Dee came twirling by them, her dress fanning out around her.

“Starry eyes, and love is all around us…,” she sang, batting her eyelashes and giving them a blinding smile.

“I can take you where you want to go,” Peter sang softly, staring into Neal’s eyes. And though he’d never win a singing competition, Peter actually sounded good. Stunned, Neal gaped at him for a moment before allowing the corners of his mouth to curve up into a smile. “Surprised?”

“Peter’s full of surprises,” Dee Dee offered before making a final circle around them and dancing away.

“I can’t wait to see what other surprises you have in store.” Neal nudged his hips against Peter’s, and Peter let out a soft growl. 

They danced the rest of the evening away, only taking an occasional break to drink some water or when someone from Peter’s table ordered a round of shots. Through fast songs and slow, Neal let his guard down and reveled in the feel of Peter’s body moving in time with his own, a prelude to what he hoped would happen when they got back to Peter’s place. Delicious need burned low in his belly, flaring every time Peter’s body slid against his.

Eventually, the live band packed it in and turned the bar’s sound system back on, still playing classic rock hits. The two of them danced through Bowie and Journey, Creedence and the Eagles. They discovered they shared a love of “Sultans of Swing” that had them both singing every word, and Neal’s laughter morphed into soft moans when Peter pushed his shirt aside and sucked a mark into his shoulder as they ground against each other through “Pour Some Sugar on Me”.

When the song finally ended, Peter stopped dancing and just stood still, holding Neal against him and panting softly. “Ready to head back to my place?”

“I’m more than ready,” Neal agreed, giving Peter’s ass a squeeze. Truth was, between the grinding and the making out, Neal was definitely turned on. He’d been doing a pretty good job of keeping himself under control, if only to avoid embarrassing himself, and he could tell Peter was struggling to do the same. Still, both of them were riding the edge of full-on arousal. All Neal wanted to do was go home with Peter and give in to what had been building all evening.

“Perfect.” Peter nodded in the direction of their table. “Jones is our ride, and it looks like he’s wrapping things up.” He leaned in and nuzzled Neal’s ear. “You know, he’s got a classic Suburban with a big bench seat in the back. Think we’ll be able to behave ourselves?”

“I don’t want to,” Neal whispered back, “but we probably should, for Clinton’s sake.”

“More for later.” Peter nipped at his earlobe, then led him over to the table. He helped Neal into his coat before slipping into his own. After quick stops at the restroom and the lockers, the three said their goodbyes and left, though not before the others made Peter promise to bring Neal back for the next get together.

\-------------

Neal barely gave Peter time to lock the apartment door behind them before dropping his overnight bag and crowding the older man up against said door, pinning him there with his hips and swallowing the surprised noise Peter made as their lips met. It didn’t take long for Peter to catch up, his warm hands cupping Neal’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer. 

They weren’t taking their time, weren’t holding anything back. This was the reason they were there. They’d already had dinner, made small talk, danced together, all of it a prelude to what had been playing out in Neal’s dreams.

Peter’s hands moved to Neal’s waist, putting a little space between them as he reached under Neal’s coat and pulled the shirt from his waistband, thumb stroking at the smooth skin just above his belt buckle. Neal moaned into Peter’s mouth before reluctantly pulling away far enough to slip Peter’s coat from his shoulders. Peter returned the favor, tossing both coats onto a small table near the door.

Neal pulled him close again and rested his forehead against Peter’s as they took a moment to catch their breath.

“What do you want?” Peter said, his voice low and hoarse with arousal. He nudged his erection against Neal’s, and Neal groaned, hitching his hips, needing the friction.

“You,” he rasped. “Anything. Everything.”

Peter leaned back far enough to look at Neal, heavy-lidded brown eyes searching his face, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Will you let me ride you?”

Neal’s breath left him in a startled gasp. Of all of the things he might have been expecting Peter to suggest, that one barely registered on the list, but that didn’t mean Neal didn’t want it. Everything between his chest and his knees tightened deliciously. Before his racing mind could form a suitable reply, though, Peter mistook his silence for an objection.

“I mean – if you –”

Neal held a finger against Peter’s lips, cutting him off. “Bedroom.”

Peter let out a soft growl and led Neal back to the bedroom without another word, both of them shedding clothing as they went. By the time they got to the bed, Peter was completely nude and was kneeling at Neal’s feet, helping him get out of his favorite pair of boxer briefs. He ran his hands up Neal’s legs, leaning in to kiss his way up the inside of one thigh, and it was all Neal could do to stay upright. It didn’t help that Peter’s request was still rattling around in his mind, making him weak in the knees.

Peter’s tongue suddenly found his balls, little kitten licks that made Neal’s whole body jerk. “ _Fuck_ , Peter.”

“Yes, please,” Peter murmured, warm breath flowing over the base of Neal’s almost painfully hard cock. Every inch of Neal’s skin, from his scalp to his toes, came alive at the sensation, and Peter took notice. He blew lightly over Neal’s balls and up his shaft to the head, already slick with precome, before sucking it between his lips.

Neal moaned, not quite sure how he was still standing, and braced himself against the edge of the bed as Peter swallowed him down, once and then again, before pulling off. With one last lick, Peter stood slowly, kissing his way up over Neal’s abs and chest before meeting his lips again. 

“You okay?”

“Mmm.” Neal rested his forehead on Peter’s shoulder, struggling to bring his panting down to a less embarrassing level. “Trying to keep up.”

“I don’t think you’re having a problem there,” Peter teased, pulling Neal’s hips against his, their erections pressed together. He nudged Neal onto the bed, and Neal pulled himself up to rest his head on the pillows. When he looked back up, Peter was kneeling at the other end of the bed, fisting his own cock and watching Neal with a hunger that made the younger man’s body clench again.

“God, Peter,” he breathed, unable to manage anything else. Watching a lover getting himself off had always been a huge turn-on for Neal, though he was rarely able to convince any of them to do it in front of him. Peter, on the other hand (the one not wrapped around his dick), seemed to enjoy showing off for him. Neal couldn’t help staring, practically salivating at the sight of Peter’s dark red cockhead poking out of his fist with each stroke. And since Peter definitely didn’t seem to be in any pain – quite the opposite, in fact – Neal forced himself to ignore the faint bruises that still painted the older man’s torso.

After working himself for a full minute, his dick shining with precome, Peter moved up to straddle Neal’s hips before spreading himself out over Neal’s body and leaning in for a long, languid kiss. He finished up with a few quick pecks as he stretched to grab the lube from the nightstand, giving Neal a moment to catch his breath.

“You still okay with this?” Peter murmured, sitting back on Neal’s thighs.

Neal flashed him a sly grin. “What do you think?” he asked, nodding down at himself.

“I think I want this inside me.” Peter wrapped his free hand around Neal’s erection and gave him a few slow strokes, spreading the precome with his thumb. “That’s what I think.” When he made a move to flip the top on the lube bottle, though, Neal put a hand up to stop him.

“Okay if I do that?”

Peter’s eyes widened and glazed over just a bit. “God, yes.” He didn’t even hesitate to hand the bottle over before sliding up so he was straddling Neal’s chest, his hands on either side of Neal’s head.

Neal coated his fingers with lube and reached down between them to rub at Peter’s hole, teasing him open and loving the unabashed moaning coming from the other man. Seeing how much Peter was enjoying it made Neal want to take his time opening him up, and by the time he’d worked in a third finger, Peter was panting out a steady stream of pleas above him, hips bucking each time Neal grazed his prostate.

“Okay,” Neal finally said, almost surprised by the huskiness in his voice. He wasn’t used to topping or being with someone who was so open – and clearly versatile – in the bedroom. It was more arousing than he ever thought possible, and he was more than ready to finish what they’d started.

Peter nodded and grabbed one of the condoms from the nightstand, somehow managing to tear it open with fingers that were trembling. He slipped back down to Neal’s thighs, and Neal bit his lip, trying to calm himself as Peter rolled the condom on. He was already way too close, and the last thing he wanted was for everything to be over way too soon. As soon as the condom was on and slicked, he reached down to give the base of his cock a squeeze, desperate to back himself away from the edge.

At least Peter seemed to be in the same boat. As he got into position over Neal, it was clear the older man was pretty far gone, balls tight and cock leaking so copiously that Neal suspected he was into milking. That thought only made Neal even more turned on, just in time for Peter to start sinking down on his erection, and he let out a loud groan. Peter answered with one of his own, but at least he stopped moving, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Peter…” Neal ran a finger down Peter’s sweat-drenched chest, and Peter shivered, his already wrecked gaze meeting Neal’s own.

“I – I need a minute,” he rasped. “Fuck.”

Neal nodded and rested his palms on Peter’s thighs, feeling the muscles jumping against his skin as Peter held himself there. It took another minute before Peter finally started taking more of him in, and Neal was glad for the extra time to get himself under some vague semblance of control, especially as the tight heat of Peter’s body slowly engulfed him. Peter moaned as he sank down, not stopping until Neal was all the way inside him.

Both of them stilled for a moment as Peter adjusted to the fullness. When he started moving again, it was Neal who had to adjust – to the intensity of Peter surrounding him and above him all at once. Peter worked them into a steady rhythm, wrapping an arm around Neal’s shoulders to lift him up slightly and shifting until he found an angle that seemed to work best for both of them. He cried out the first time Neal hit his prostate, which just encouraged Neal to lift his hips and drive deeper into Peter, pulling helpless moans from the older man again and again. 

Once they got in sync, neither of them held back. Just looking at Peter, sweat-drenched, eyes closed, cock bobbing between them and dripping on Neal’s belly, was making Neal more than a little crazy with need. He could tell Peter was close, but he was so lost to everything that it took him a moment to realize Peter was practically shaking with the effort of holding back.

“Peter,” he breathed. The other man’s brown eyes opened, his desperate gaze fixing on Neal’s. Neal started to bring a hand up to wrap it around Peter’s erection, but Peter shook his head.

“I – I’m there.”

Neal’s brain stuttered to a standstill, even as his hips instinctively kept rocking up into Peter. “You can… _untouched_?” He’d never seen it happen.

“I can tonight.” Peter shivered. “Please…Neal, _please_.”

The realization hit Neal’s already melted brain like a ton of bricks – Peter was waiting for his permission. _Begging_ him for it. “Do it,” he heard himself say, voice low and intense. “Come for me.” He’d never really tried talking dirty, and the words felt foreign on his tongue, but Peter reacted beautifully to them. He threw his head back, body going rigid above Neal, and came with a hoarse cry. And in that moment, Neal wasn’t sure what was hotter – the wet streaks landing on his chest and stomach, those muscles tightening deliciously around his dick, or the look of pure ecstasy on his lover’s face.

It was a combination of all of those things that pushed Neal over the edge. Peter was barely finished, still clenching around him, when Neal came with a ragged half-sob. He arched up off the bed, driving deep into Peter as he rode out his orgasm, flinching again and again with the aftershocks. The intensity of it made everything a little hazy around the edges, and it took another minute or two for Neal to start coming back to himself.

He looked up at Peter, whose shaking arms were still holding him as he caught his breath. Peter’s hair was all over the place and there was sweat running in rivulets down his body, but Neal found him oddly beautiful in that moment, completely open and a little wrecked.

“Peter,” he whispered, trailing a finger down Peter’s trembling bicep.

“Fuck,” Peter breathed in reply, the corners of his mouth turning up. “That was…god, that was good.” He leaned down to give Neal a breathless kiss, then pushed himself back up far enough to give Neal a once-over. His grin widened. “You’re a mess.”

Neal’s brain was still having a hard time keeping up, but he managed to return the smile. “So are you.”

Peter nodded and gave Neal another kiss, then reached back to hold the condom as he pulled off of Neal’s softening cock. Neal was always pretty sensitive right after coming, and he jerked at the contact, then again when Peter slowly slid the condom off of him.

“Shh.” Peter trailed his fingers down Neal’s leg. “I’ll be right back.” He slipped around the corner to the bathroom, and Neal could hear water running. He closed his eyes and let himself drift, sated and content, only stirring when he felt the mattress sink next to him. When he opened his eyes, Peter was gazing at him fondly, a washcloth in one hand and a towel draped over his shoulder. He’d cleaned up and put on his boxers, and he gave Neal a soft smile.

“Thought you were asleep.” He started wiping Neal’s chest, the lukewarm cloth cooling his heated skin. “I was going to suggest a shower, but sleep sounds better.”

“Mmm.” Neal nodded in agreement. He normally wouldn’t have been so worn out, but mind-blowing sex on the heels of a long evening of dinner, dancing, and fun had left him wanting to just curl up with Peter and fall asleep to his heartbeat.

Peter chuckled softly as he pulled the towel from his shoulder and used it to dry Neal’s body. The whole thing was surprisingly tender, and Neal couldn’t help grinning up at the man hovering over him.

“This is nice,” he murmured, reaching to glide his fingertips down Peter’s side. Peter shivered at the touch, and he leaned forward to capture Neal’s lips with his own. The kiss was gentle, though Peter nipped at his lower lip as they pulled away. He slipped away again, just long enough to get rid of the washcloth and towel, before returning to join Neal in bed.

Neal started to push himself up, but Peter laid a hand on his chest. “It’s okay. I think we’re both done for a while. Get some rest.” He let his hand slide around to Neal’s side. “Are you a cuddler or a loner when you sleep?”

Neal couldn’t help laughing at that, and he leaned up to plant a kiss on Peter’s jaw. “I’m not sure. A cuddler, I think. I haven’t really…spent the night with many guys.” Normally, it would have made him self-conscious to admit that, but the afterglow kept him in a comfortable place.

“Afraid of getting caught?” Peter’s question was a casual one, more rhetorical than anything, but Neal answered anyway. 

“Yeah, and it’s worked so far.” He tucked himself even closer to Peter. “It’s nice to not have to worry about that here.” As Peter hummed in agreement, Neal barely managed to hold back a yawn. 

“Okay,” Peter said softly. “You get comfortable and let me know where you want me. I can sleep just about anywhere – comes with the job.”

This time, the self-consciousness nudged at Neal enough to give him pause. He refused to let it take hold, though. Peter was asking what he wanted, offering to let him stay on his own terms. “Actually, are – are you okay on your back?”

“Sure,” Peter replied, immediately rolling away to lay flat on his back and pulling a pillow under his head. Neal waited until Peter settled, then curled into his side, his head resting on Peter’s chest. Sure enough, he could clearly hear the other man’s heartbeat, strong and steady. 

“Perfect,” Neal murmured as Peter’s arm wrapped around him. He felt himself starting to drift almost immediately, and instead of fighting it, he allowed himself to give in and fall asleep.

The next time Neal awoke, it was dark in Peter’s bedroom. He still felt like he could sleep for hours, but his throat was parched, and he needed to use the bathroom. Peter was still out, an occasional murmur of nothing escaping between slow, steady breaths. He'd barely moved in his sleep; if anything, he'd shifted even closer to Neal.

After watching Peter sleep for a moment, Neal’s bladder reminded him that he needed to get up, and he carefully extricated himself from Peter’s grip. Peter stirred but didn’t wake, and after pausing for a moment to make sure, Neal slipped out to the bathroom, stopping long enough to find and put on his underwear along the way.

Though he hadn’t been in Peter’s apartment before and didn’t exactly get to see much of it when they’d arrived, it was easy enough to find the kitchen, even in the darkness. Neal grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge, squinting at the light. He put one on the counter next to the fridge and opened the other, leaning back to take a long drink. The cold water felt heavenly, and he took another gulp before closing the bottle.

As he turned to head back to the bedroom with both bottles, something caught Neal’s eye. There was a small phone nook next to the hallway, just a table with a fabric-covered memo board above it. There were various photos tucked in under the thin strips of ribbon that criss-crossed the memo board, and Neal was stunned to see his own face among the many others, just barely visible in the light shining through a nearby window.

He recognized the photo almost immediately as the one El Mitchell had taken the day she’d interviewed the two of them. Peter, wearing the cashmere sweater that had felt so inviting under Neal’s fingers, looked strong and confident, while Neal seemed a little caught off-guard by the whole situation.

The next picture that caught his eye startled him. It was another picture of him, this one apparently taken by Peter while Neal was cooking at the fire station. He was angled so it was almost a profile shot, and he looked completely relaxed and in his element. He hadn’t realized Peter had taken any photos of him cooking, but the fact that Peter had already printed it and put it up with his other photos left him feeling warm and a little giddy.

He glanced over the other pictures, including one of Peter in a _Charlie’s Angels_ pose with Diana, Sara, and El Mitchell, and another of Peter and Clinton Jones wearing loud Hawaiian print shirts and looking like they were well on their way to a long stay in Margaritaville. There were a couple of group shots in the firehouse and at Halligan’s, and one of Peter with Dan Picah – who wasn’t in drag – sitting on someone’s front porch steps.

His gaze then landed on a shot of Peter, younger by at least a few years and dressed in a t-shirt and khaki shorts, standing next to a good-looking blond in a plaid shirt and dark jeans so tight that they left very little to the imagination. Peter’s arm was draped over the other man’s shoulders, and they were leaning into each other, the blond’s arm snaking around Peter’s lower back. Neal immediately got the distinct impression that they were more than just friends.

The floorboards creaked nearby, and Neal looked up to see Peter standing just outside of the kitchen. The older man pushed down the dimmer switch, then turned on the lights, bathing the kitchen in a faint glow and giving both of them a clearer look at the photo board. He walked up behind Neal, wrapping his arms around Neal’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Peter whispered, “everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Neal leaned back into Peter’s warm body. “Came out to get a drink and noticed this on the way back.” He gestured to the pictures, and then specifically to the one of him at the firehouse. “I didn’t even know you took this.”

“You were so sure of yourself that day,” Peter murmured. “Huge fucking turn-on. Had to concentrate on something else so I wouldn’t embarrass myself, so I started sneaking a few pictures.”

“Mmm.” Neal nodded, more than a little proud of the fact that Peter found his competence arousing. His eyes drifted back to the photo of the two of them, then up to the shot of Peter with the blond, and his curiosity got the better of him. “Who’s this?”

Peter tensed against him for a brief second before relaxing again. “That’s David. He was…my lover for a few years.” He hesitated, his thumb stroking Neal’s stomach. “He was killed about eight years ago. I – I can’t really talk about it, but that’s why I came out.” He tucked his face into Neal’s neck. “I’ll tell you about him someday, if you want. Just not – not tonight.”

“Okay,” Neal whispered, turning in Peter’s arms and wrapping him in a steadying embrace. Peter seemed to be fine, though. He nuzzled his way up Neal’s neck and jaw to his lips and kissed him until Neal could barely remember why they were in the kitchen in the first place.

“Come on,” Peter murmured against his lips, nudging him with the beginnings of an erection. “Let’s go back to bed.”

That sounded like such a perfect plan to Neal that he started walking them back the hall to the bedroom. Peter paused just long enough to grab the water bottles before letting Neal pull him back in.

It wasn’t until later, when he lay there, wrapped around Peter and drifting after exchanging languid handjobs, that Neal thought back to the photo board. The fact that Peter had already put up pictures of him – of _them_ – warmed him all over, made him grin in the afterglow.

He thought briefly about what Peter had said about David, about how he’d said _he was killed_ instead of _he died_ , and about his death being the reason Peter came out. It didn’t make much sense, and there was something niggling at the back of Neal’s mind, some connection he was sure he was missing.

It didn’t come to him, though. He was having a hard time thinking past the warmth of the man next to him, the sated relaxation of their bodies, the slow and steady pulse under his ear, the way they seemed to fit together perfectly. So he let it lull him to sleep instead, giving in to the pull and following Peter into a peaceful slumber.

\-------------

As the days turned into weeks, Neal found himself adjusting well to both his relationship with Peter and his place at Antiquity. He was back to working a full schedule and fit in easily with the staff – both of which seemed to piss off Matthew Keller – and was also spending a good bit of time going over plans for the next incarnation of Enigma with Vincent Adler. The older man seemed genuinely interested in Neal’s opinions and suggestions, and he worked many of them into the final design.

Since they’d both returned to their regular workloads, it took a little more effort and some creative schedule wrangling for Neal and Peter to see each other, but they made it work better than Neal could have hoped. He and Mozzie cooked twice more for Peter’s station house and had an open invitation to come back anytime. In their off-time, he and Peter didn’t spend much time at his own apartment, as Adler liked to drop by unannounced, but that didn’t mean they were stuck at Peter’s place all the time.

They got together with Peter’s station brothers – and sometimes Mozzie as well – on off days, usually at Jim Price’s apartment, Diana and Sara’s studio, or Clinton Jones’ house in Yonkers. Jones even had a backyard where everyone could sit outside and shoot the breeze, and no one seemed to care if Peter and Neal wanted to share a lounge chair or if Peter snuck in a quick kiss when Neal got up to grab another beer. Even Clinton and Isabelle’s son treated them like any other couple, and he was more interested in the fact that Peter was always willing to practice pop time drills with him than the fact that Peter was dating a man.

“CJ’s an all-star catcher,” Isabelle Jones told Neal one evening as they sat watching Peter and CJ practicing while Clinton cleaned the grill nearby. Clinton had invited Peter and Neal over for dinner, so it was just the five of them, and they’d spent the evening outside, enjoying the unseasonably mild spring weather. “Wants to play in the big leagues. Peter says he might actually have a shot.”

Neal hummed and took a sip from his glass of Barolo. “I don’t know as much about baseball as Peter,” he admitted, “but CJ definitely looks like he knows what he’s doing.” They watched again as the boy popped up out of his crouch and threw the ball to Peter, who caught it deftly and swung his glove down to the ground to tag an invisible runner. When the silence stretched for longer than he was comfortable with, Neal spoke again. “I – I wanted to thank you, all three of you, for letting us come over, and…” He trailed off, not sure exactly how to put into words what he wanted to say. He expected the acceptance from Peter’s gay friends, but he was still getting used to the fact that he was allowed to be open with Peter in front of Clinton, Isabelle, and their son.

Isabelle gave him a knowing smile. “You two are welcome here anytime, Neal. I know you have to be careful, and we’re more than happy to give you two a place to relax and be yourselves without having to worry about who might see you.”

Neal nodded, struggling not to tear up at the fondness in her expression and the depth of understanding in those simple words. Isabelle politely looked away, giving Neal a chance to compose himself. “I appreciate it,” he finally managed. “ _We_ appreciate it.”

As Peter and CJ switched to a more simple game of catch, shifting to welcome Clinton into the mix, it was Isabelle who broke the silence. “Peter really adores you, you know. I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited about someone since David.” Her gaze moved from her husband to Neal. “Has he told you about David?”

“Not really. I saw a picture in his apartment the night after my first time at Halligan’s, and he told me David was his lover for a few years. Said he was killed, and that’s why Peter came out, but he couldn’t really talk about it.”

Isabelle nodded, taking a sip of her wine. “They were a great couple. But for as close as they were, I think Peter’s even more taken with you. There’s just something different about the way he looks at you, something deeper. Like he’s able to appreciate what he has even more than he did when he was with David.” She paused for more wine, and her eyes shifted to Peter in the yard. “I think maybe Peter took for granted that David would always be there, you know? And then he wasn’t, and I don’t think Peter thought he’d ever have anything like that again. Now that it’s looking like he does, he’s really taking the time to appreciate every minute of it.”

Neal was a little caught off-guard by Isabelle’s words, and he drank some of his wine to hide behind the glass. He and Peter had been officially dating for over a month by then, and it was no secret that they both had strong feelings for each other. He thought back to the first day he cooked for Peter and his brothers, and to Peter’s words as they lay together in the office afterward.

_I don’t think I’ve ever felt as strongly for anyone as I do for you._

And Jim Price’s revelation that they were already putting a lot more out there than they realized.

_They’re in love…the way I saw Cap looking at Neal earlier? That’s the way my husband looks at me…_

“Neal.” Isabelle’s voice broke through his thoughts. “If I made you uncomfortable, I apologize. I just – I love seeing Peter so happy, and I know Clinton does, too.”

“So do I,” Neal said a little too quickly. He again looked away, feeling the blush rising on his cheeks. It was true, though. He’d seen Peter in action at the department more than once, barking orders as he supervised activities or drills, and he was the picture of confidence, a born leader. Even when he was just clowning around with the guys or pleasantly buzzed, Peter was clearly comfortable in his own skin, with a playful cockiness that seemed to endear him to everyone.

But Neal knew another side of Peter Burke, the soft, private smiles and the gentle glide of his fingertips, the way he sometimes kissed Neal not as a means to an obvious end, but just to wrap them both up in sweet contentment. He knew the Peter who ate sugary cereal on his off days and openly wept at the end of _Rudy_ and drank pickle juice to cure a hangover.

Whether he was ready to say it out loud or not, Neal was in love with Peter. For as much as that thrilled him, though, he couldn’t quite let himself fully enjoy it, not with the unspoken hanging over his head.

When they’d first started dating, Neal thought Peter might try to persuade him to come out. He’d waited for the hinting to start, had expected subtle comments like _I wish I could take you here, but…_ or _maybe someday, we’ll be able to…_ , things they could do if only Neal would come out.

But it never happened. In fact, the opposite was true. Peter was careful about public displays of affection, he took Neal to places where they could get away with holding hands or sharing long looks across the table, he found safe havens – with the Jones family, for instance – where they could let their guard down and be themselves. He even invited Mozzie to a few of the group get-togethers, and Peter’s friends welcomed the other man into the fold as if they’d known him for years.

It wasn't a matter of Peter avoiding the subject or handling Neal with kid gloves. It simply seemed to be a non-issue for Peter once they’d gotten past the initial mentions of Neal being the exception to his rule about not dating closeted men. And while Neal was definitely enjoying the absence of any kind of pressure to come out, he knew it would only be a matter of time before it started to get in the way of their happiness.

Pulling himself out of that dreary corner of his mind, Neal watched as Peter threw the baseball to Clinton. They were bantering about some sort of fire department softball game, both of them laughing and carefree, and Neal was hit with a deep pang of longing.

He _wanted_ that. He wanted a life where he could relax, where he didn’t have to worry about who was watching and whether or not someone figured it out. He wanted to be able to go out with Peter anywhere in the city without having to worry that word might get back to Adler.

And even more than that, he wanted to be true to himself and to Peter. He hated that he’d put the burden of being in a closeted relationship on Peter’s shoulders. Peter, who was proud of what they had and would probably shout about it from the proverbial rooftops if given a chance, didn’t deserve to be forced to hide his feelings. Neither of them deserved it.

Right then and there, with a game of catch going on in front of him and Isabelle sipping wine beside him, Neal made the decision to come out. He didn’t know when or how he’d do it, but he knew the secrecy would become an issue at some point, and he didn’t want to lose Peter because of Vincent Adler’s homophobia.

Before he could think about it too much – and thankfully, before he could talk himself out of it – Peter plopped down on the end of the lounge chair next to Neal’s feet. He was warm, hair damp at the ends, smelling of anti-perspirant and happiness. He wrapped his fingers around Neal’s ankle and grinned.

“Hey.” Peter’s voice was low and a little rough with exertion. He looked beautiful, so much so that Neal had to take a deep breath before he was able to reply.

“Hi, handsome,” Neal murmured, sitting up and swinging his legs around Peter. He slid down until they were sitting side by side in the middle of the lounge, legs pressed together from thigh to ankle.

“Enjoy the show?”

“Oh, yeah.” Neal bumped Peter’s shoulder with his own. “I definitely have a new appreciation for baseball now.” When Peter started to lean in for a kiss, Neal met him halfway.

“Dude,” CJ called from where he was sprawled on the grass, watching them upside down. “Get a room!”

Isabelle hissed out a reproachful “ _Clinton Jermaine_ ,” but Neal couldn’t help chuckling against Peter’s lips as they pulled away from each other.

“You sound like Mozzie,” he said to the boy.

“I don’t know who that is,” came the matter-of-fact reply, “but he must be really smart.”

At that, all of the adults burst into laughter, and CJ sat up, looking proud of himself.

They headed back to Peter’s place soon after, and it was on the tip of Neal’s tongue to tell Peter about his decision, but he didn’t know if he was quite ready for that yet. He wasn’t going to change his mind, and he knew he now had enough of a support system in Peter and his fire department family to be able to get through it. At the same time, he was acutely aware of the fact that coming out would lead to swift and drastic changes to his life and career.

And though it really was between him and Peter, Neal needed to talk to someone else about such a life-altering decision first. He needed another perspective from someone who knew him better than almost anyone, but who was technically outside of the situation.

He needed to talk to Mozzie.

\-------------

“So, this was completely your decision?” Mozzie asked around a bite of peach bourbon sorbet. “No pressure whatsoever from captain ladder jockey?”

Neal couldn’t help smiling at the nickname. During their second visit to cook for the 65 house, Mozzie had slipped up and referred to Peter as ‘hose jockey.’ A hush had fallen over the room as everyone held their collective breath, waiting for Peter’s response. He’d regarded Mozzie with arched brows for a moment before launching into a reply.

 _“Actually, the engine guys are the ones with the hoses. I’m with the ladder company. We ventilate the building, gain entry, and do search and rescue. And I worked my ass off to become an officer. Since you’re a guest in our house, I’d appreciate a little respect. So if you really want to go there, it’s ‘captain ladder jockey’ to you._ ” A spark of amusement had appeared in Peter’s eyes as his gaze flitted briefly to Neal before returning to Mozzie. “ _Now, on the other hand, if it was a euphemism for my sexuality, then I proudly accept. It’s probably one of the more creative ones I’ve heard, and…it’s true about half the time._ ” 

At that, most of the men had cracked up laughing, and even Neal had chuckled. True to form, Mozzie had simply shrugged and said, “ _Fine, ‘captain ladder jockey’_ , making sarcastic air quotes with his fingers. “ _As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, utensils are a mandatory part of consuming this dish, not an optional one._ ”

“Neal, are you even listening?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, it was my decision. Peter actually hasn’t pushed at all.” Neal took a bite of his own sorbet – rhubarb – and rolled it around on his tongue, savoring the taste and the cold until it melted.

Chef Keller had been throwing an immature fit about sharing his kitchen with Neal that morning, so Adler pulled him out to taste test the potential flavor choices for their upcoming sorbet line and had allowed him to bring Mozzie along. The two of them were working their way through the flavors, sampling each and writing down their opinions. All in all, not a bad way to spend an afternoon at work.

“Why not?”

Neal frowned around another spoonful. “Why hasn’t he pushed?”

“Exactly. He’s told you he doesn’t date men who are in the closet, yet he’s happily dating you – without trying to convince you to come out. Sounds more than a little shady to me. What’s his endgame?”

“Seriously? Do you always need to be so suspicious?”

Mozzie’s brows rose above his glasses. “You’re answering questions with questions again. If you’re evading, it only means you’re not entirely convinced that his motives are pure.”

Neal shook his head and scribbled a few opinions about the rhubarb sorbet onto the pad of paper next to him before getting up to retrieve their next samples from the refrigerator. He put the bowl of blueberry limoncello in front of Mozzie before sitting down with the bowl of sea salted caramel.

They sat in silence for a moment, taking their first bites of the new flavors. Neal couldn’t help letting out a small groan of appreciation as the sorbet melted on his tongue. The caramel flavor was perfect, easily his favorite of the several he’d sampled. He glanced up at Mozzie, only to find the other man staring expectantly at him.

“This is _really_ good,” he said, nodding down at the sorbet.

“Neal…”

“Moz. Look, let’s just drop it and enjoy the sorbet.”

“Fine, but I don’t think your closet is big enough for your fireman and his biceps.”

The corners of Neal’s mouth twitched up at that, but he sobered quickly. It was a valid point. Though Peter hadn’t confronted Neal about coming out, it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to keep their relationship a secret forever, especially for Vincent Adler’s sake.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, blowing out a long breath. “I mean, what if I come out, and then something happens between Peter and I? I’ll be jobless, homeless, alone –”

“You won’t be alone,” Mozzie interrupted, pointing with his spoon for emphasis. “If the head monkey fires you, I’ll quit.”

Neal looked down at his sorbet, swallowing hard, his chest tight. “Thanks, Moz,” he finally managed. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell Mozzie he didn’t have to quit for his sake, but he didn’t trust his voice. He could feel the weight of the decision on his shoulders, in the pit of his stomach, in the sudden numbness of his toes. It closed in on him like the claustrophobic confines of his figurative closet, and he sought refuge in the darkness behind his eyelids. There was a vague clattering noise…somewhere.

“Neal.” Mozzie’s voice, closer than it should have been, cut through the panic and brought him back, grounded him. A hand closed around his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“I’m scared, Moz.” It came out in a choked, shaky whisper that would have been embarrassing if anyone other than Mozzie had heard it. “I’m just…so damn scared.”

“I know.” Though Mozzie barely moved, Neal could hear a chair scraping across the floor, followed by the tell-tale shift of his friend sitting beside him. The hand on his shoulder slid down to the middle of his back, and he let the warmth of it comfort him as he tried to slow his breathing. 

They sat there as the minutes passed, neither of them speaking, and Neal was able to put himself back together. He finally opened his eyes and pushed the bowl away far enough that he could cross his arms on the table in front of him. 

“Better?” Mozzie finally asked.

“Not much.” Neal shrugged and rested his chin on his arms.

“Do you love him?”

The question caught Neal off-guard, but the answer to it was crystal clear to him, had been for longer than he wanted to admit.

“I do, yeah.”

“Have you told him?”

Neal took a deep breath and let it out in a long, resigned sigh. “Not yet.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, forcing himself to look over at his best friend. “I think that scares me as much as coming out.”

Instead of looking surprised, as Neal had expected, Mozzie simply nodded. “You’re afraid he won’t want to get that serious with someone who’s still in the closet.”

“Yeah,” Neal whispered, feeling the tightness in his chest again, the burning in his throat. It was the first time he’d heard someone give voice to his deepest fears, and it hurt. He loved Peter and thought Peter loved him, too, but they’d never said it, and every time he thought about taking that next step, he could hear Peter’s voice echoing in the back of his mind.

_…you’re not out, and I don’t date guys who are in the closet._

Peter had made an exception when it came to Neal, but that was about _dating_ him. They enjoyed being together so much, being in the moment, that they’d never really stopped to talk about the future and whether or not they even had one together. Neal had thrown all of himself into their relationship, and though it seemed like Peter was doing the same, the idea that Peter would draw the line at being in a long-term relationship because Neal wasn’t out made Neal _ache_.

“You know you shouldn’t do it for him,” Mozzie said, always the voice of reason. “If you’re going to come out, you need to do it for you, to be true to who you really are. Not to keep captain – not to keep Peter from breaking up with you.” The older man squinted at him. “Not that I think you have to worry. He may be a blue collar public servant, but I think he deserves a little more credit. He’s been really good to you – and to me, which is important. I wouldn’t have let you get this far with him if I’d thought he’d hurt you.”

Neal felt a rush of affection for the man sitting beside him. It started to loosen the tight ache in his chest, and he managed a small smile. “Oh, you wouldn’t have _let_ me, huh.”

Mozzie’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Really? That’s what you took from that?”

Neal gave him an innocent shrug before getting serious again. “No,” he replied softly, “and you’re right.”

“Well, of course I am.”

“So what changed your mind? Back when I was first interested in Peter, you seemed pretty opposed to the idea. Now, you’re all for it. What gives?”

Mozzie watched him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before finally answering. “He makes you happy.”

“Simple as that?” Neal asked when Mozzie didn’t elaborate.

“It is.” Mozzie’s gaze softened, and he offered a relaxed smile. “In the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you as happy as you are now, with Peter. And if I had to pick someone for you, it would be someone who treats you well and makes you happy.” He cocked his head and gave Neal a pointed look. “And then there’s that little matter of jumping into the fourth-story window of a burning building and saving your life.”

“Yeah.” Neal sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. “So you don’t think it’s just, what did you call it…knight in shining armor syndrome anymore?”

Mozzie’s mouth twitched. “I may or may not have rushed to judgment, although I still maintain that it wasn’t a very conventional way to start a relationship.”

That made Neal break into a smile, in spite of the fact that he was still uneasy about the idea of coming out. “Since when have you ever embraced convention?”

“Point taken.” Mozzie held up his hands in surrender, then dropped one to Neal’s shoulder. “Look, the point is that when you come out, you won’t be alone. You’ll lose the job, sure, but that may be a good thing –”

“He’ll get me blacklisted, Moz. I won’t find another job in the city, ever.”

“Let me finish – and stop being so melodramatic.” Mozzie seemed to be trying desperately to keep from rolling his eyes. “As I was saying, you’ll lose the job, you’ll probably lose the apartment, but you won’t be on your own in this. You have people who will take you in and help you while you figure out what happens next – me, Peter, the friends you’ve made at the station, quite a few of our colleagues. Give us a little credit.”

Neal nodded, relief starting to loosen the anxious knot in his stomach. He still had plenty of apprehension about coming out, but Mozzie had given him something he desperately needed – hope. He sighed, letting his shoulders slump.

“I’m tired of hiding, Moz,” he finally said. “I’m tired of hiding who I am, and I’m tired of hiding my relationship with Peter, and I – I’m just…” He trailed off, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to soothe away some of the tension. “I’m tired. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

It was just two simple words, but those two words were what finally pushed Neal over the line.

\-------------

As it turned out, making the decision to come out was cakewalk compared to actually coming out. It would have been fairly easy if not for one person in particular – Vincent Adler. Neal had no doubt that Adler would not only fire him, but would evict him from his apartment and most likely keep him from getting a job as a chef anywhere in the city. And it wasn’t just paranoia on his part. Adler was easily one of the most powerful and influential businessmen on the east coast, and his peers respected him enough that if he told them to blackball Neal, they’d do so.

So while Neal tried to figure out exactly how and when to come out, he also started making preparations for the fallout. He started transferring money into private and well-hidden accounts, ones that Adler wouldn’t be able to find, let alone touch. He helped Mozzie start looking for another place to live – one that would have enough room to house Neal until the dust finally settled and he could get back on his feet.

Spending so much time around Vincent Adler didn’t help matters either. He’d figured out pretty quickly that Neal was in a relationship and took every opportunity to grill him about his new ‘girlfriend.’ Neal was able to dodge the questions without actually lying outright by simply reminding Adler of how few relationships he’d been in over the years they’d known each other.

“I just don’t want to jinx this,” he’d said, fixing Adler with an imploring look that he knew would stop the other man’s line of questioning – for the time being, anyway. “You know my track record, Vincent. I think I’ve got something really good here, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

Adler had looked him up and down for a moment before seemingly deciding that Neal was telling him the truth. “You won’t,” he said softly, clapping Neal on the shoulder before walking away. It was a rare display of affection, but it was enough to make Neal feel a pang of guilt about the deception. In a perfect world, Adler would have been fine with Neal’s sexuality, and Neal would have proudly introduced Peter to the man who’d been his guardian and mentor.

But the world wasn’t perfect, and Neal knew what he had to do, what he _wanted_ to do. He wanted to be true to himself, he wanted to stop hiding. He wanted to be the one marching in the parade with Peter, proud of who he was and not caring who saw him.

Near the end of May, before the Memorial Day holiday, Peter surprised Neal with a trip ‘down the shore,’ as he called it. Peter had taken a couple of vacation days, and since he was still splitting time with Keller at Antiquity, Neal was able to swing the same days off. Adler had simply given him a knowing look and told him to make sure he and his girlfriend came up for air at some point.

Neal assumed they’d stop in Seaside Heights since Peter had mentioned a boardwalk, but Peter kept driving south in the BMW convertible he’d borrowed from Jack Franklin. The top was down, the radio played a steady stream of classic rock, and Peter looked more carefree than Neal had ever seen him.

They sidetracked into Atlantic City, and Neal thought maybe Peter would stop there – the town definitely had a boardwalk. But he kept going, taking the scenic route down through all of the popular shore towns with names Neal vaguely recognized – Ocean City, Sea Isle City, Avalon, Stone Harbor. They finally ended up in Wildwood, and Peter pulled into the parking lot of a condominium complex that looked like it had once been a hotel.

“Grab the bags,” Peter said as they got out of the car. “I’ll be right back – gotta check in with the manager.” He slipped into the office at the front of the building but returned quickly, grabbing his bag and leading Neal to an elevator. They got out on the third floor, and Peter made his way to one of the condos at the front of the building, facing the ocean. He unlocked the door and ushered Neal inside, before dropping the bag and pulling Neal in for a kiss.

“Okay, that’s better,” Peter sighed against Neal’s lips. “God, I needed that.”

“So did I.” Neal wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist. It felt good to be so far away from everything – from Vincent Adler and being in the closet, from Keller’s animosity and the grind of the big city. Peter, too, seemed to feel the difference; he’d left the fire captain back in the city and was more like the laid-back, adorable guy Neal got to see when they were alone.

“We should get settled in,” Peter said, running his arms down Neal’s sides. “We’ll head out in a little bit, stop at the liquor store and the grocery store, grab a bite to eat somewhere along the way.”

“Sounds like a plan.” They weren’t in any hurry to part, though, spending a few minutes simply standing there and holding each other. It felt perfect, and Neal couldn’t help smiling as he thought of someday coming home to Peter’s open arms and melting into them after a long day.

It wasn’t until they parted that Neal noticed the condo’s décor. Though tastefully done, it was clear the place belonged to firefighters. There were a few framed group photos of the members of Peter’s station house on the walls – including a photo with the commissioner from the 2014 Pride Parade – along with a beautiful painting of the front of the fire station, with the words 65 Pride in the bunting above the doors. Outside of those touches, though, it looked more like a typical shore condo, done in blues and creams and pastel yellows.

The condo had a kitchen and dining area, a living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom, and it actually looked nothing like a former hotel room. 

“Several of us went in to buy it, and we kind of use it like a timeshare,” Peter explained, picking up his bag and starting back the hallway.

“It’s a nice place.” Neal followed Peter into a bedroom with a king-sized bed and let out a low whistle. “Well, that looks inviting.”

Peter dropped his bag next to the small dresser and approached Neal, gently crowding him back until he had no choice but to flop down on the bed. “There. _Now_ it looks inviting.”

Neal caught Peter’s hand and pulled him down beside him. “Look at you accessorizing.”

“Can’t help it,” Peter told him matter-of-factly as he toed off his shoes and let them fall over the side of the bed. “You make everything look better.” After brushing his lips against Neal’s, he planted a line of soft kisses over Neal’s jaw and down his neck. It didn’t seem like Peter was in much of a hurry, though, and Neal figured he was probably tired from the drive.

Sure enough, Peter eventually drifted, face buried in Neal’s neck. It was sweet and familiar, and Neal let himself relax, let himself forget about the fact that he’d soon lose his job and his home and his mentor. He thought instead about what he’d gain, about the man beside him and the freedom to be in love with him. 

They made good use of their time at the shore, whether going out to explore the beaches and boardwalk or staying in to explore each other. They avoided the more upscale restaurants, where there was a chance Neal might be recognized, in favor of diners and takeout places. And they spent quite a bit of time lounging on the massive beach and poolside at the condo, taking advantage of the mild temperatures and blue skies. 

It wasn’t until their last night there, though, that Neal found the nerve to tell Peter about his decision to come out. By then, he and Mozzie had made enough preparations that they were as ready as they’d probably ever be for losing their jobs and apartments. There were all sorts of anti-discrimination laws protecting him, but Neal didn’t plan on using them to his advantage. He knew he wouldn’t want to be around Adler, working with him or living in a building owned by him, after coming out.

He was ready to move on, ready to start the next chapter of his life with Peter. It still managed to terrify him, yet it left him feeling oddly exhilarated at the same time, the idea that he’d finally be free.

They’d indulged in broiled swordfish from one of the local diners, mostly because Peter loved the place, but also because Neal refused to believe that one could get decent swordfish at a diner. It turned out to be delicious and went especially well with the Viognier they’d picked up at one of the local wineries after a tour earlier in the day.

By the time they made their way up to the boardwalk, it was nearly dark, and both of them were pleasantly buzzed. The wine had left Neal feeling loose enough that he held Peter’s hand, not caring who saw, knowing it soon wouldn’t matter. They were still dressed for dinner and the winery tour, Neal in gray slacks and a light blue button-down, tie still tied loosely around his neck. Peter wore khakis and a pink gingham shirt that Neal swore only Peter could pull off. “That’d look like a tablecloth on anyone else,” he’d teased, nosing at the mole at the base of Peter’s throat. 

Since it was still technically the off-season, the crowds weren’t as bad on the boards, and they were able to enjoy a leisurely evening stroll. Neal inhaled deeply, taking in the distinct mixture of scents, the funnel cake and pizza intermingling with salt air and sunblock. He listened to the distant crash of the surf and the squawking of seagulls, the game barkers and the screams from the amusement pier and the repeated warnings to “watch the tramcar, please.”

Peter gave Neal’s fingers a quick squeeze, bringing him out of the sensory daze, before letting go to slip an arm around his shoulders. “Taking it all in?”

“Yeah.” Neal leaned into him as they walked. “What do you usually do when you’re here?”

“Eat,” Peter replied with a grin. “Seriously – pizza, ice cream or water ice, something from one of the fudge places, you name it. After that, we usually walk it off, maybe hit the arcades. The six-fives love Skee-Ball.”

“Nice. Been a long time since I played that.” Neal didn’t add that the last time he’d played Skee-Ball had been in a Coney Island arcade with his dad, the summer before he’d died. Or that he and his dad had played almost every day during their yearly vacations to Point Pleasant, while his mom cheered them on and collected the tickets.

Though the memories had long ago turned from sad ones to fond ones, Neal must have reacted somehow, because Peter’s arm tightened around him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Neal turned to plant a quick kiss high on Peter’s jaw, still exhilarated by the fact that he was doing so in public. “I just…my dad and I used to play Skee-Ball all the time when I was a kid. It was kind of a tradition for us.”

“Oh.” Peter looked suddenly hesitant, his earlier enthusiasm starting to leech away. “We don’t have to do that. We can play something else. They have some great retro games.” He gave Neal a nudge. “Or I could win you a teddy bear from the claw machines.”

“We can still do the Skee-Ball,” Neal said softly, wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist. “It’s time to bring back the tradition, and I wouldn’t want to do that with anyone but you. And besides, I already have a teddy bear.” He pulled Peter into his side, and the older man chuckled, relaxing against him.

“I’m only letting you get away with that because I love you,” Peter murmured. It took a moment for Neal to process the words, but when he did, he brought them to an abrupt stop – one that Peter seemed to expect. He tugged Neal aside, out of the flow of people, and turned to face him. His hands cupped Neal’s neck, thumbs stroking his jaw. “I do. Have for a while.”

Neal just stared at him, mouth working, but his brain wasn’t putting the words together. He’d known he was in love with Peter almost from the beginning, and he’d suspected that the feeling was mutual, but they’d both been cautious about actually saying the words. His pulse thundered in his ears as he tried to gather himself enough to reply.

“I – I love you, too,” he finally managed. When Peter opened his arms, Neal practically fell into the embrace, the shock giving way to relief. He buried his face in the side of Peter’s neck and let himself smile. Peter just held him for a moment, and when he pulled away, there was a smug little grin on his face. Neal couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head.

“What? I can’t be proud of myself for holding out this long? Hell, that first day you cooked for us at the station, I might have been a little in love with you.”

The statement made Neal gasp, not because he hadn’t known, but because he’d felt the same about Peter that day. He remembered Peter hinting at it as they lay beside each other on the bed in his office.

_I don’t think I’ve ever felt as strongly for anyone as I do for you…and it’s way too early to say something like that._

“I felt the same way, you know,” he told Peter as they started walking the boards again, hand in hand. Even just a few short weeks ago, he wouldn’t have dared to hold Peter’s hand in public. But he’d decided to come out, and he was pleasantly buzzed, and they were in love.

And though Peter didn’t come right out and say so, Neal knew he’d noticed the change. The older man looked more comfortable, freed from having to watch his every move when he was out with Neal in public. He was grinning as he took in their surroundings, shining eyes reflecting the lights from the shops. When he caught Neal watching him, Peter’s expression turned so fond, so loving that it took Neal’s breath away. Before he’d met Peter, he’d never allowed himself to imagine that he’d find someone who would look at him that way. Now that it had actually happened, he knew he’d do whatever it was going to take – including coming out to Vincent Adler – if it meant he’d never lose Peter.

“So, what do you want to do first?” Neal asked softly, his thumb rubbing over Peter’s knuckles.

“Such a loaded question.” Peter gave him a gentle nudge. “But since we’re on the boards, let’s start with a better view.”

As promised, the view was beautiful from atop the Ferris wheel, the bright lights of the boardwalk businesses on one side, and the moonlit ocean on the other. Neal was able to get a good look before being pulled into an impromptu makeout session – not that he’d ever complain about that.

Their next stop was one of the arcades, where Neal learned pretty quickly that he still had a knack for Skee-Ball. He and Peter played until their arms started to get sore, though the matches stayed friendly and loose. They gave their tickets to some kids who’d stopped to watch, then headed to Peter’s favorite pizza place, each devouring a big slice while Peter explained the friendly rivalry between the two most popular pizzerias on the boards.

As they walked aimlessly afterward, Neal couldn’t help noticing how casually they seemed to blend in with those around them. He’d noticed a few dirty looks, but most of those who even noticed them seemed to be as indifferent as they were toward any other couple. It only served to reassure him that he was making the right decision about coming out, and he couldn’t help smiling as he wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and pulled him close.

“What’s up with you tonight?” Peter asked, his own arm draped over Neal’s shoulders. “Whatever it is, I like it.”

Neal took a deep breath before answering. He knew that once he told Peter, there’d be no going back. “I, um…I’m going to come out.”

Peter came to an abrupt stop, almost exactly as Neal had done earlier, and turned to face him. “You’re what?” he managed, his eyes wide and full of something that it took Neal a moment to place – guarded hopefulness. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Neal answered, a little surprised by Peter’s reaction. He’d assumed Peter would be ecstatic, that he’d want to celebrate or start making plans, or maybe he’d just hold Neal in his arms and kiss him until they were both breathless, right there in the middle of the boardwalk. Instead, if anything, Peter seemed more uncertain by the second. He opened his mouth as if to say something before snapping it shut again. “Peter?”

“I – I think I need to sit down.” Peter grabbed his hand and pulled him into an arcade, slipping into a photo booth and closing the curtain before collapsing hard onto the bench. As Neal sat beside him, watching him closely, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and seemed to be trying to get his breathing under control. When he finally opened his eyes again and looked at Neal, the hopeful look from earlier was tinged with a bit of wariness. “Neal, what’s going on?”

“I told you.” Neal turned sideways on the bench and took one of Peter’s hands in both of his. “I want to come out. I’m tired of hiding. You deserve better than that. _We_ deserve better than that.”

Peter just stared at him, lips slightly parted, the shock evident in his eyes. The elation Neal had expected still wasn’t anywhere to be found. “H-how?” he spluttered. “I – just – we – we never even…discussed it…”

Neal blinked at him, more than a little frustrated. “What is there to discuss? Peter, I thought you’d be happier about this.”

“I – I am.” The corners of Peter’s mouth twitched up halfheartedly before falling again. He ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek, and Neal didn’t miss that it was trembling. “I just – I mean, have you thought about this? What about your job?”

Neal swallowed down a twinge of annoyance before answering. “Of course I’ve thought about it. Look, I don’t know what the issue is. I’m tired of living a lie, and I don’t want the job anymore. Not if I have to work with someone who can’t stand what I am. You mean more to me than anything, including Vincent Adler and his goddamn restaurants.”

Peter’s expression softened at that, and he cocked his head, giving Neal a fond half-smile. “Neal…” His voice was raspy with emotion, and Neal immediately felt his frustration dissipate. He opened his arms, pulling Peter into an embrace and running his nails through the short hairs at the nape of Peter’s neck, something that never failed to relax the older man.

“Mozzie found a place for us to stay,” he said softly. “We’ve been moving things and making some plans. I have a friend, Alex, who writes for the food section of the _Times_. She said she’ll get me in there until I find something else. I’ve written articles before, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” He realized he was rambling and stopped, giving Peter a chance to process what he’d already said.

After a moment, Peter pulled away, and small but genuine smile on his face. “You _have_ thought this through.”

Though Neal was relieved that Peter was finally coming around, he couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the statement. “Really, Peter? Ye of little faith.” He reached for Peter’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“It’s not that,” Peter murmured. “And I _am_ happy about this, more than you know. I just worry…after what happened with…” He trailed off and closed his eyes, shaking his head. Before Neal could respond, though, Peter opened his eyes, and they were surprisingly clear. “No,” he said, the smile reappearing on his face. “This is different. This – this is perfect.” He wrapped his fingers around Neal’s loosened tie and pulled him in for a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

Neal grinned at him before responding with a kiss of his own. It started out a little desperate but evolved into something more tender, something that brought a good sort of ache to Neal’s chest. His lips traced a path across Peter’s cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, nuzzling Peter’s jaw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” He could feel the muscles moving as Peter’s smile widened.

“I love you, too.”

They just sat there for a few moments, letting everything sink in. A murmuring outside the booth reminded them that life was continuing on the other side of the curtain, and they finally pulled away from each other. Inspiration hit Neal, and he nudged Peter, nodding to the screen in front of them.

“Should we?”

“I think we should,” Peter agreed, fishing some money out of his pocket for the machine. They gave in to the happiness and the residual buzz and let themselves get a little goofy as they posed for the photos. As they waited for them to print, they sat in the booth, curtain still blocking them from the people milling around in the arcade. Peter, who’d recovered from his earlier apprehension, grabbed Neal’s tie and reeled him in for another makeout session. They’d discovered only a few weeks earlier that Neal had a particular kink for the tie-pulling, and Peter had rarely wasted an opportunity to do it since then.

Neither of them held back, their kisses rough and a little desperate. It only took a few minutes for the strip of photos to finish printing, but by then, both of them were panting, and Neal was starting to get a little too turned on for his own good.

“Condo?” Neal breathed.

Peter nodded in reply as they stood. “We’ll take the tram back.” They made sure they looked presentable enough before leaving the booth and the arcade. When they were finally on the tram and riding in the direction of the condo, Peter held the strip of photos between them so they could take a closer look in the dim light.

Even as they chuckled and teased each other about the faces they were making, Neal couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride in his chest. He’d come a long way since posing for that first photo with Peter in the green room at News 10. They both had.

He was in a serious relationship, he was going to come out, and he couldn’t have been more thrilled.

And all it had taken to get him there was a devastating fire and a near-death experience.

\-------------

Neal didn’t come out right away after they got back from their trip to the shore. He had a few last minute things to take care of in preparation for losing his job and his apartment, and Peter was as patient as usual about the whole situation. He’d pointed out that there were anti-discrimination laws in place, and that Neal could take Adler to court over the loss of his job and housing, but it wasn’t something Neal every really considered doing.

He wanted a clean break from Vincent Adler, and he couldn’t bring himself to drag the man into a lawsuit. Though he hated the homophobic side of Adler, Neal still had very clear memories of the man who’d surprised his mother with flowers or her favorite buttercreams on random days, who’d struggled through her death even as he helped Neal cope with the loss. He remembered standing with Adler in Enigma before it had opened to the public, could still feel the arms wrapping around him as Adler pulled him into a hug under the portrait of Ali Caffrey. _“This is for you, Neal,”_ he’d said. _“And for your mother. She would have been so proud of you. I know I am.”_

It stung to remember those words, to know that soon, Adler was going to be the opposite of proud. It didn’t matter that Neal was Ali Caffrey’s son or, in a sense, Adler’s protégé. There was no chance the man would have a change of heart or some sort of epiphany, no chance that he’d accept Neal’s sexuality.

Losing Adler and the life he’d provided, though, meant gaining so much more. It meant a life with Peter, and it meant not having to hide who he was. He’d still have Peter and his friends, and he’d still have Mozzie. He’d have a roof over his head, he’d hopefully be writing for the _Times_ , and he’d be free.

He and Peter didn’t see as much of each other as they would have liked in the days following their trip. Neal was covering while Keller attended a conference, and Peter worked a few double shifts. What little time they did manage consisted mainly of quick lunches or coffee shop visits. And with his decision firmly made, Neal had started to be less careful about public displays of affection with Peter, openly holding his hand or giving him a quick goodbye kiss in front of the coffee shop across the street from the firehouse.

It wasn’t until nearly two weeks later that they finally managed to find a good night to get together. Peter had just come off of a night tour, and after crashing for most of his first day off, he called to ask if Neal wanted to double date with Clinton and Isabelle at an upscale steakhouse in the Upper West Side. Neal immediately accepted, barely caring that both the owner and executive chef knew him by sight and would most likely see him there with Peter. 

The evening was beautiful, mild and clear, and Neal couldn’t help stealing a kiss as they stood outside the restaurant, waiting for the Joneses. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist and leaning his head on Peter’s shoulder.

“Missed you, too. Those doubles really knocked me for a loop.”

“I’ll bet. How’s Diana feeling?”

Peter chuckled as he reached up to stroke Neal’s hair. “She’s still pissed that they made her take two days off. Other than that, she’s fine.”

Before they had a chance to slip into small talk, Clinton and Isabelle showed up, and they headed inside. Neal threaded his fingers through Peter’s and didn’t let himself worry about the fact that he’d be seen by someone he knew. As they were seated, though, he still couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting toward the kitchen. He knew the executive chef liked to make the rounds during the dinner hours, and he wondered what would happen when he was spotted with another man on what was pretty obviously a double date.

“See someone you know?” Peter murmured next to his ear.

“No, not yet.” Neal gave him a smile and turned his attention to the wine list. He decided he wasn’t going to ruin their evening by being uptight about who might see them. It wasn’t fair to the others, and he needed to get used to the idea of people knowing he was dating a man anyway.

His plan hit didn’t hit its first snag until their meals were brought out. He could see the executive chef out of the corner of his eye, stopping to greet a few other diners, but clearly on his way over to Neal’s table. Once the server was gone, the chef stepped right up to the table, his eyes taking in the scene before him, then settling on Neal.

“Neal Caffrey. What brings Enigma’s finest to my humble establishment?”

“Ryan.” Neal managed a pinched smile, hoping the other man wouldn’t make a scene. “Just enjoying a night out with my friends.”

“Ah, I see.” The man gave Peter a pointed once-over before fixing Neal with a look that said he already had a pretty good idea of what was going on. “Care to introduce me?”

Neal tensed but forced himself to hold the smile as he motioned around the table. “Of course. Ryan, this is Peter Burke, and this is his colleague, Clinton Jones and his wife, Isabelle.”

“Ryan Wilkes.” He gave them a slightly predatory grin. “I’m the executive chef here. Neal and I go way back.” What Wilkes didn’t mention was that he’d once worked for Adler as a sous-chef and had desperately wanted the executive chef position at Enigma, not realizing that Adler had been planning to give it to Neal all along. When he’d learned of Neal’s promotion, Wilkes had quietly resigned, only to be snatched up almost immediately by Terrence Pratt, who owned the restaurant where they now sat. 

After a quick exchange of greetings, Neal cleared his throat and looked at Wilkes as though there was nothing out of the ordinary happening – as though he wasn’t on a date with another man. “It was good seeing you again, Ryan.” As much of a lie as it was, he managed to make it sound convincing.

“Likewise,” Wilkes replied, blinking the coldness from his eyes as he looked around the table, eyes once again lingering on Peter. “If there’s anything else I can do for you this evening, let me know.” With that, Wilkes turned and disappeared.

“Well, that was a little odd,” Isabelle said once he was out of earshot.

“He thinks I’m straight,” Neal murmured, running his fingertips over the handle of his fork. “He worked with me at Antiquity, before we opened Enigma. Back then, I had a friend who was kind of a…a beard, I guess. Her name was Kate, and she was asexual. I – we never – we just hung out, pretended we were in love for a while. Kept her parents off her back and Adler off mine.” He could feel the awkward post-ramble silence building, so before it could settle, he changed the subject. “Enough of the ancient history, though. The food’s going to get cold. Let’s eat.”

The weirdness with Wilkes was soon forgotten as everyone tucked in to their meals. The food was delicious, as Neal had expected, and the conversation was light. Peter and Jones seemed to delight in teasing each other about things that happened on calls or at the station, and the trip to the shore came up more than once.

By the time they started perusing the dessert menu, everyone was loose and relaxed from the wine and the camaraderie. Peter and Neal had their heads together over one of the menus, trying to decide whether they wanted to split the apple strudel with cinnamon ice cream that had captured Peter’s attention right from the start, when someone cleared their throat next to the table.

It took Neal a moment to look up, but when he did, his heart nearly stopped, and a cold dread spread through him so quickly he nearly shivered.

“Hello, Neal.” Vincent Adler stood next to the table, regarding Neal with raised eyebrows. Neal was so stunned that it took him a moment to register that the restaurant’s owner, Terrence Pratt, was standing just behind Adler’s shoulder, a smug smirk on his face. “Enjoying your meal?”

Neal blinked up at him, mortified. His heart raced, and he felt vaguely light-headed as the panic set in full-force. Adler stared at him expectantly, hands clasped behind his back, and Neal knew he was going to have to say something.

“Vincent – I…” He trailed off, barely able hear his own voice over the blood rushing in his ears.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” Adler’s eyes flicked briefly to Clinton and Isabelle before narrowing as they settled on Peter. “You’re Peter Burke, correct?”

“I am,” Peter said, offering his hand. Adler’s own hands stayed behind his back, and he gave Peter a look of pure disdain before turning his attention back to Neal.

“I’m a little confused here, Neal,” he continued, his tone as condescending as the look on his face. “I got a rather interesting call a short time ago from someone who swore they saw you here on what looked to be a double date. Which, in itself, wouldn’t be unusual. I know you’ve been dating someone.” His glare turned icy, but to Neal’s immense relief, he kept his voice low. “But imagine my surprise when I was told that you appeared to be on a date with a _man_.” Adler’s mouth pinched in disgust. “Of course, I told the caller that he must be mistaken, but when he insisted, I had to come up here and see for myself.” He made a loose gesture between Neal and Peter. “Care to explain?”

Neal sat there, panic gripping him, leaving him unable to speak. He glanced up at Adler and was vaguely startled when the man blurred before him. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, and his eyes darted to Peter. There was an openly hopeful expression on his lover’s face, and he knew in that moment that Peter was expecting him to do it, to come out right there in the restaurant.

But no matter how hard Neal tried to force the words out, they wouldn’t come. He looked back up at Adler, who was looming over him with an expectant smirk on his face, and he choked. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He’d wanted a chance to gather his thoughts – and his courage – and he’d wanted to come out to Adler in private, not in a crowded restaurant.

There was no doubt in Neal’s mind that if he came out then and there, Adler would make huge scene. He’d berate both Neal and Peter, he’d drag their relationship and their reputations through the proverbial mud, and he’d take great satisfaction from making a spectacle of them. And they didn’t deserve that. 

“Well?” Adler snapped, just loudly enough for people at a few of the closest tables to turn and glance at them. “Please, do explain. I’m all ears.”

Neal could feel the heat rising in his cheeks at the clear hint of disdain in the other man’s tone. He swallowed and shook his head. “Vincent, it – it’s not what it looks like.” He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. Just saying those words was bad enough.

Thankfully, Adler rescued him from having to continue. “Well, I should hope not.” He let a hand drop onto Neal’s shoulder and leaned down, though he spoke loudly enough for everyone at the table to hear him. “You should be a little more careful about the company you keep and the impression you’re giving to those who don’t know better.” He threw a pointed glance in Peter’s direction before giving Neal a tight smile. “Goodnight, son.” Without waiting for a reply, and without acknowledging the others at the table again, Adler turned on his heel and walked away with Pratt following closely behind.

Neal sat frozen, still reeling from the encounter – and from his reaction to Adler’s accusation. He’d told Peter he was going to come out, and then when an opportunity arose, he’d not only turned it down, but he’d outright lied. He felt sick, his dinner a cold lump in his stomach. He couldn’t even bear to look at Peter, though he could feel the air of sadness and disappointment that had settled deep into the silence around the table.

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor. He leaned over to murmur something to Clinton before turning and stalking toward the exit, not even sparing Neal a glance. Neal was vaguely aware of Clinton saying something softly to Isabelle, but he only had one thought on his mind. He got up and hurried after Peter, trying to ignore the tingling in his fingers, the sensation of the bottom dropping out of his world.

Neal caught up to Peter just as he was stepping out onto the sidewalk. “Peter, wait.” He almost reached for Peter, but the tension in the older man’s frame made him think better of it. “Please, hear me out.” Peter didn’t stop until he reached Clinton’s Suburban, and even then, he didn’t turn to look at Neal. “Peter, listen, I –”

“No.” Peter’s voice was soft but strong, and there was no anger or disgust in that single syllable, only exhaustion and resignation. He turned to face Neal, eyes drifting up to meet Neal’s. “I think I’ve heard enough for tonight.” His gaze dropped, and he jammed his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders in spite of the mild evening air.

“Please,” Neal said, desperately wanting to reach for Peter, but not knowing if his touch was even welcome. “I – it wasn’t – I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, okay? I – I didn’t want him to make a big scene in the middle of the restaurant, especially with Clinton and Isabelle there.” 

“Wouldn’t have bothered us a bit,” Clinton said from behind him. He stepped up beside Peter and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Cap. We’ll give you a ride home.”

“Peter, wait,” Neal pleaded, finally reaching to wrap his fingers around Peter’s wrist. “Let me – let me fix this. I…” He trailed off, not even sure how he’d go about fixing what he’d just shattered.

“Not tonight,” Peter said softly, still looking down. “I…need to not be around you right now.”

The words ripped into Neal, punching the breath from his lungs. The panic was coursing through him full-force, leaving him overheated and shaky. His mind reeled, he couldn’t think, couldn’t come up with anything to say to convince Peter to not shut him out.

“I promise I’ll fix this,” he whispered, his fingers tightening around Peter’s wrist. “I – I love you.”

Peter’s eyes came back up to meet his, and the sheer devastation in them almost broke Neal. “I love you, too.” He slowly pulled his hand out of Neal’s grip, turning his own hand to give Neal’s fingers a squeeze before climbing into the backseat of the Suburban. Neal watched, heartbroken, longing for Peter to give him a look through the window, some kind of sign that the situation wasn’t hopeless. But Peter simply put on his seatbelt and closed his eyes, his head angled away from where Neal stood.

Clinton walked around to get into the driver’s side without another word, but Isabelle stopped to give Neal’s arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Neal,” she said softly, giving him a sympathetic look before climbing into the Suburban beside Clinton.

And just like that, they were gone. Peter was gone. 

Neal stood there, shoulders slumped under the weight of the lie he’d told to Vincent Adler, watching the taillights as they blended in with the countless cabs and delivery vans. He was starting to go numb, his hands and feet tingling, oblivious to the people passing on the sidewalk around him. The only feelings he had left, the only thoughts that could get through the defense mechanisms he’d built up after the loss of his father and then his mother, centered around getting Peter back. Somehow.

“Neal.” Adler’s voice grated at every nerve that was still feeling, and the hand that fell on Neal’s shoulder yanked him unceremoniously back into the darkness of Adler’s petty little existence. Neal whirled on him, and something in him snapped.

“Keep your fucking hands off me,” he seethed, glaring at the other man. Before Adler had a chance to respond, Neal turned and stalked away. By the time he reached the subway station, he’d worked his way up to a steady jog. The burn in his lungs kept the walls from coming back up, kept him from sinking back into the numbness.

He was just about to step onto a train that would take him closest to Peter’s apartment when it dawned on his clearing mind that Clinton hadn’t driven in the direction of Peter’s place. And with as close as Peter was to the other members of his ladder company, Neal knew that’s where he’d go for support. Determined to do whatever he could to fix what had happened at dinner, Neal made his way through the station to the train that would take him to Company 65 – and to Peter.

\-------------

“I can’t let you in, Neal.” Diana held up a hand, both warning and placating. “He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Look, I need to talk to him. Just for a minute. Please.” Neal’s voice was rough, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His eyes darted from Diana’s to the open bay behind her. He could see Peter at the back of the bay, sitting on the stairs, face buried in his hands. Jones sat beside him with his arm draped around Peter’s neck, and he was leaning in close, likely giving words of comfort.

Diana’s hands went to her hips, and it was clear she was going to stand her ground. She shook her head at him. “He doesn’t want to talk. You need to back off and give him some space.”

“But –” 

“But what, Neal? I’m under orders to not let you in. You can try to convince me until you’re blue in the face, but you’re not getting in there.” She dropped her voice low enough so only Neal could hear, and the hard edges around her eyes and mouth softened. “Look, I know Peter’s not the only one hurting here, and I’m sorry. I also know you screwed up big-time, and it’s probably going to take something equally big – along with a lot of time – to fix it.”

“I know,” Neal said, his voice a raspy whisper. His gaze dropped to the sidewalk between them, and all of the fight went out of him. “I just…don’t even know what happened.”

“You broke his heart, Neal.”

“I panicked!” Neal blurted, eyes coming up to meet Diana’s. “I’ve spent all of my adult life hiding my sexuality from Vincent Adler, and he – he put me on the spot, and I panicked, okay?” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “I –I don’t even know how to explain it.” 

“Well, obviously.”

“You don’t understand,” Neal said, failing to keep the dejection from his voice. “I’ve had to deal with Adler’s homophobia and discrimination since I was sixteen.” 

Diana’s eyes went wide, and she just gaped at him for a moment. “Oh, tell me you did _not_ just say I wouldn’t understand discrimination and homophobia. I’m a gay, biracial, non-religious woman in a fire department full of straight, white, Catholic men. If you tried all day, you couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of discrimination I’ve dealt with.” She leaned in close, eyes never leaving Neal’s.

“When I first came out of the academy, I was assigned to an engine company in Queens. I tried to hide my sexuality, but the guys eventually found out, and one of them decided the best way to deal with that was to fuck it out of me.”

Neal gaped at her, horrified, the sick feeling expanding to fill his stomach. He didn’t want to hear the rest of the story, but Diana got even closer, so their bodies were almost pressed together, and gritted the words out.

“I didn’t let him get very far, though. I broke his nose and almost ruptured one of his testicles. And do you know what the old boys club did to me? They wrote me up for assault, put it in my departmental record, and sent me here to the Six-Five house with all of the other outcasts. _He_ tried to rape me, and _I_ got punished because I didn’t let it go on long enough for him to leave any evidence.” Defiance flared in her eyes, and Neal took half a step back. “But you know what – I’m here because I earned my spot, and I’m _not_ going away. I refused to let any of the bigoted assholes at the other stations break me. They’re not worth giving up my dreams.” She closed the distance between them again. “Is Vincent Adler worth that? Is he worth giving up what you have with Peter? If you think he is, then you’re not the man we thought you were – the man _Peter_ thought you were.” She gave him a light shove, just enough to send him stumbling away from her. “Now go home.” 

She walked back into the bay, leaving Neal standing on the sidewalk. As the bay doors started to roll down behind her, Neal saw Peter stand and start up the stairs, Clinton’s arm still around his shoulders. 

“Peter!” he shouted, heart leaping into his throat when Peter paused on the steps. Instead of turning and looking at Neal, though, he hung his head and started walking again.

“Go home, Neal,” Diana called from the middle of the bay, giving him a pointed look before the descending door cut her off from view.

Neal stood on the sidewalk, staring at the front of the firehouse long after the doors had closed. He thought about Diana’s words, about Peter’s devastated expression at the restaurant. At first, he held on to some sort of hope that maybe Peter would give in and come down to work things out with him.

But it didn’t happen. The minutes passed, and Peter didn’t come outside, didn’t call Neal or text him, didn’t even send Diana back out to chase him away. People passed by on the sidewalk, life went on around him, and Neal just stood there, feeling more lost than ever. It was a long time before he could bring himself to go home.

\-------------

Neal was surprised when he heard a knock on the door of the new apartment, or as Mozzie called it, his “safe house.” Moz was the only one who knew he was there, and he wouldn’t have bothered to knock.

He hadn’t been able to stay at his old apartment for long after the disastrous end to his dinner with Peter. He’d taken some of the few things that were left there and took them with him to the new apartment, where he’d holed up for the rest of the weekend, curled up on the sofa and watching TV on his laptop.

He’d called off work on Monday and Tuesday, unable to face the questions that Adler was likely to level at him. Mozzie covered for him, telling Adler that Neal had come down with a highly-contagious stomach virus and definitely shouldn’t be spreading it around the restaurant. 

With so much time alone and nothing to do, Neal couldn’t stop thinking about what happened at dinner, and about Diana’s words. He’d tried calling Peter on Monday, but after getting his voicemail a few times, he’d resorted to a tentative text instead.

_I miss you._

He’d tried not to read too much into the fact that it took hours to receive a response. At least he got one.

_I miss you, too._

Blinking back tears of relief, he’d sent another text almost immediately.

_Can we talk? Please?_

Peter hadn’t responded to that one, and though it hurt Neal’s heart, he decided not to push the issue.

By Tuesday, he was tired of sitting around feeling sorry for himself, so he’d set up a late lunch date with Alex Hunter to discuss his writing for the _Times_. He’d cleaned up, shaved, and even put on a shirt and tie. The meeting had gone well, and he was feeling better about things in general by the time he returned to the apartment. 

He’d only been home for half an hour when the knock came at the door. For a hopeful second, he wondered if it was Peter, before realizing it was probably a delivery or someone looking for Mozzie.

“Who is it?” he called as he approached the door, silently cursing Mozzie’s distrust of things like peepholes.

“Clinton Jones. Can we talk?”

Neal hurried to open the door, concern twisting his stomach. “What’s going on? Did something happen to Peter?”

Jones’ brow furrowed, and he held up a placating hand. “No, Peter’s…well, Peter’s okay, considering. I just – I wanted to talk to you, to maybe clear up some things. I went to the restaurant, but the little guy said you weren’t there and gave me the address.”

Relieved, Neal stepped aside and motioned for Jones to come in before locking the door behind him. “Must be something pretty important if you convinced Moz to give you the address.”

Jones held up a bottle of scotch. “He didn’t want to at first, but when he saw I was bringing alcohol, he had a change of heart.” A small smile flashed across his face before dropping away. “Interesting place. Under the stairs – kind of Harry Potter-esque.”

“Mozzie’s idea,” Neal replied, ushering Jones into the kitchen. “I’ve lived in a lot worse. Have a seat.” He gestured to a stool at the small kitchen island and pulled some glasses from one of the cupboards, then turned around to find Jones standing nearby, staring at a flag display case on the wall. “My grandfather’s,” he explained. “Dad’s dad. He fought in the second World War. Mozzie put it up there. I guess he wanted the place to feel a little more like home.”

Jones nodded as he sat down at the island. “Reminds you of your dad and granddad – and not Adler. I get it.”

“Yeah.” Stunned, Neal slowly sat on the stool beside him. He opened the whisky and poured two fingers in each glass. Jones shook his head.

“That’ll get us through the first few minutes. You might want to be a little more generous.”

Neal nodded and filled the glasses halfway before putting the bottle back on the table. He took a sip, letting the burn ground him. “So, how – uh, how’s Peter?”

“He’s Peter.” Jones shrugged, running an index finger around the rim of his glass. “He’s struggling, but he’s good at compartmentalizing.” He took a healthy sip of his drink. “And he’s already gotten through losing the only other man he ever loved, so, you know…he’s got some experience.”

Neal looked down, his cheeks heating. “Look, I know how badly I screwed up –”

“I’m not here to give you a hard time,” Jones said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a photo, laying it on the bar in front of Neal. “You know who this is, right?”

Neal gave the picture a close look, though he recognized the man immediately. “That’s David. He and Peter dated for a while, and I know he died, but that’s all I really know. I…didn’t want to push Peter to talk about whatever happened.”

Jones tilted the glass back toward him, staring down into the amber liquid. “That’s why I’m here. Figured if you knew about David, it might help you get where Peter’s coming from, and why what happened the other night tore him up so much.”

Neal took a gulp of his drink to drown out the stab of pain he felt at the remark and nodded for Jones to continue. He stared down at the photo of the handsome young man, sitting on the back of a large horse and grinning at the camera. 

“Peter took that,” Jones said softly. “They were always taking trips like that, doing outdoorsy stuff – camping and hiking.” His gaze drifted to the photo, and he allowed a weak smile. “David was with the 141s in Brooklyn. He was a tiller man…no, he was the _best_ damn tiller man I’ve ever seen. He won driving competitions at firefighter conventions – there was no one better, man.

“He was a good guy, too. Smart, sarcastic as hell, and definitely leadership material. He had a way of bringing the guys together, lifting their spirits if something went bad during a call. Came from money, but he wanted to work for a living instead of having everything handed to him, you know?”

Jones sighed and took a few slow sips of his whisky, and Neal had a feeling it wouldn’t be long until he got to the hard part of the story.

“Peter met David at a banquet, and they hit it off right away. They were both pretty deep in the closet at the time, but they knew. Someone in our company eventually figured out that Peter was gay, and that he and David were dating. We did basically what we’ve been doing for you guys – gave them places where they could be together without getting caught. Our guys at the six-fives were fine with it, but we knew some of the guys from David’s company were pretty homophobic.

“I know Peter didn’t tell you this because he didn’t want to talk about David, but the two of them were together for almost three years when David died.”

Neal gaped at him, glass raised halfway to his mouth. “Three _years_?”

“Yeah. They were going to get married someday, once it finally became legal here. They were so damn excited about it. David always got this goofy smile on his face…” Jones’ voice went rough, and he trailed off, concentrating on his drink instead. They sat in silence as several minutes passed. Jones seemed to be struggling to gather himself, though Neal wasn’t sure if he was just getting his thoughts together or trying to control his emotions.

Finally, Jones blew out a long breath and poured himself some more scotch. “Neal, have you ever heard of a blanket party?” His voice was deeper than before, unnervingly steady, and he glared at the countertop in front of him.

“No,” Neal replied softly, “I – I haven’t.”

“It’s when a few guys throw a blanket over another guy’s head and hold him down, and then some other guys beat him up. They – they use their fists, or bars of soap in socks, or…hydrant wrenches. Whatever they can get their hands on.”

A deep coldness settled into Neal’s stomach. He no longer wanted to hear the rest of the story, though he knew he needed to if he wanted to understand. 

“Peter was supposed to get it that night, too,” Jones said, still stone-faced. “Somehow, someone in David’s house found out he and Peter were dating. A few of them decided to do some literal gay-bashing – give each of them a blanket party. They wanted to beat up David first and make Peter watch, so they stole David’s phone and texted Peter to lure him to the station house.” Jones’ hand started to shake against his glass, and he pulled it back, clenching it into a fist. When he continued, there was so much anger and disgust in his voice that it made Neal shiver.

“Peter was – he was running late, and the fucking _animals_ decided they couldn’t wait. They got David to go down to the basement to help them with something, and then they threw the blanket over him and beat on him until…until they finally noticed he’d stopped moving. They thought he just passed out, so they threw water on him, but he didn’t come around.”

Jones paused, and Neal could see him struggling again. The anger seeped out of his features, replaced by a profound sadness, and though his gaze never strayed from the countertop, Neal thought he could see tears in the corners of his eyes. He knew what was coming, and what Peter had told him that night in the kitchen – why he’d said _he was killed_ instead of _he died_ – suddenly made sense.

“Clinton,” he whispered, reaching out to lay a hand on the other man’s forearm. Jones’ chin trembled, but he clenched his jaw, forcing it to stop. When he continued, there was a tremor in his voice that was impossible to ignore, and it made Neal’s chest tighten.

“Their captain, a guy named Garrett Fowler, walked in right about then. He was a hardass and cocky as hell, but he was fair. When he saw what was going on, he checked David’s vitals and started CPR on him, but…” Jones shook his head and thumbed at the corner of his eye. “When Peter –” His voice broke, and he breathed through his nose in an attempt to keep what was left of his composure. “When Peter got there, they – the medics – were just bringing David up from the basement. They tried, but there was just too much…” Jones ran his hands down over his face. “He didn’t – he didn’t make it.”

Neal didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until it all rushed out of his lungs at once in a startled gasp. He’d known David had died, but hearing the story and thinking about the viciousness of it, thinking about Peter showing up to find that the man he loved had been beaten to death, was too much. He didn’t wipe away the tears that ran down his face. His hands were numb, and it felt right to just let them fall anyway.

“Oh my god,” he finally breathed, still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the savagery of David’s murder. 

“Yeah.” The tremor was gone from Jones’ voice. He simply sounded tired. “Garrett Fowler may have been a prick sometimes, but he reported what happened right away. He caught some flak from the brotherhood, but he still saw the whole thing through – testified in court, made sure the guys who killed David went to prison. They’re still there, for whatever that’s worth.” As Jones paused for another drink, Neal finally wiped his face and tried to pull himself back together.

“Peter had a hard time with David’s death and the funeral,” Jones continued, and Neal’s mind suddenly flashed to the photo he’d seen online of Peter crying and Jones comforting him as they sat on the steps in their dress uniforms. It made his heart ache all over again. “But he came out that same week – publicly. He swore nothing like that would ever happen to him again, that he wouldn’t hide who he was and wouldn’t…” Jones trailed off and cleared his throat, fascinated with his drink again.

“…date anyone who was in the closet,” Neal finished, feeling a little sick and more than a little guilty. He’d always assumed that Peter’s reason for not dating someone who wasn’t out was just a choice. He never could have imagined that it was rooted in such tragedy and pain.

Jones nodded and finally looked back up at Neal. “I thought you needed to know. Look, Peter – he’s worth it, okay? I know it won’t be easy for you to come out, but he’s worth it. And he deserves a lot better than what happened at dinner the other night.”

“I know he does.” Neal swallowed hard, forcing himself not to look away and ignoring the deep blush he was sure had settled into his cheeks. “I – I’ll fix this, I promise.”

“Don’t promise me, man, promise Peter.” With that, Jones stood, taking the photo but leaving the bottle of scotch on the counter. “I’ll let myself out.”

Still a little numb, Neal managed to pull himself to his feet and followed Jones to the door. “Clinton?” Jones paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at him. “Thanks.”

Jones shrugged. “Peter’s my best friend. I don’t want him to go through something like that again.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly before opening the door and leaving.

Neal locked the door before slumping against it and sliding down to sit on the floor. He buried his face in his hands as everything he’d heard crashed together in his mind, overwhelming him. He thought about David being beaten and smothered in the basement of a firehouse, and about Peter not getting to say goodbye, and about a photo of Peter and Jones in their dress uniforms. He thought about the look on Peter’s face at dinner.

_It’s not what it looks like._

_I need to not be around you right now._

_Is he worth giving up what you have with Peter?_

_I know it won’t be easy for you to come out, but he’s worth it._

Neal’s hands slipped up his face into his hair, and he tugged on it in frustration, letting his head fall back against the door. His vision blurred again, and he clenched his teeth against the sobs that threatened. 

_I don’t think I’ve ever felt as strongly for anyone as I do for you._

_I love you. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life._

He banged his head against the door and growled in frustration, in anger – at Adler, but mostly at himself. He needed to make things right, sooner rather than later. But he wanted to do it with a clear head, not one clouded by alcohol or anger. 

By the time Mozzie showed up a couple of hours later, Neal had migrated to the sofa and was sitting in the near darkness, staring at his half of the boardwalk photo booth strip – two small photos of himself with the man he loved more than anyone.

Though he didn’t look up, he could sense Mozzie pausing at the counter, taking in the bottle of scotch and the glasses. It took another moment for the older man to make his way over to the sofa. When Neal didn’t look up, Mozzie simply sat down beside him.

“Neal?”

Neal swallowed, never taking his eyes off the photos. “I’m done,” he said softly. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Mozzie answered without hesitation. “I’ll be there.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Neal spoke again. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“You go, we go,” Mozzie murmured, resting a gentle hand on Neal’s knee. “It’s time anyway – for both of us.”

“Thank you.” 

They slipped back into silence, sitting there for well over an hour before Mozzie got up to go to bed. Neal stayed on the sofa, gazing at the photos and letting them ground him until it was too dark to see them. Instead of going back to bed, he simply stretched out on the sofa, though it was a long time until he found anything resembling sleep.

\-------------

“Where is he?”

Mozzie gave him a sharp nod. “Up in his office.”

Returning the nod, Neal headed for the stairwell. He didn’t have the patience for the elevator, and he needed to expend some nervous energy anyway. By the time he reached the third floor landing, Neal’s heartrate and confidence were both up. The anger simmered just below the surface, just enough to fuel his grand exit, but not enough to get him in trouble with the law.

He burst into Adler’s office without knocking, breezing past the older man’s assistant with a convincing, “Morning, Melinda.”

Adler jerked his head up when Neal entered, shock flashing across his face before a condescending smirk forced it away. “Well, it’s about time you showed up. Calling off the past two days, then late today –”

“Shut up,” Neal snapped. “I don’t work for you anymore.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and dropped it on the desk. “My letter of resignation, effective immediately.”

“Your what?” There was some incredulity in his tone, but it was carried the patronizing note Neal was used to hearing from Adler. “You can’t _resign_. 

Neal tapped the envelope with his index finger. “Just did.”

Adler stood and leaned over the desk, hands steepled on the satinwood inlay. “Let me rephrase. You _will not_ resign. Let’s not forget who supported you since you were sixteen years old, Neal. Who put you through culinary school, more than once? Specialty schools overseas? Who groomed you for greatness, built a restaurant for you and handed you the top position there, made you one of the most successful chefs on the entire east coast?” He clenched his jaw, his next words low and frigid. “Who pulled you and your mother out of the brand of poverty that’s one minimum wage paycheck away from sleeping on a _piece of cardboard_?”

The anger that had been hovering around the edges of Neal’s composure swept through him at the mention of his mother. “How dare you bring her into this,” he seethed. “This conversation isn’t about my mother, it’s about our relationship, business and personal, coming to an end.”

“You belong to me,” Adler hissed, leaning even closer.

Neal didn’t back down, stepping up until he was inches from Adler, the desk barely separating them. “I’ve _never_ belonged to you, you sick son of a bitch.” A muscle in Adler’s jaw twitched, and his eyes blazed. Neal could tell he was getting ready to launch into another round of insults, so he cut him off before he could even get started. “And besides, you don’t want to be associated with me anyway, since I’m everything you despise in a person.” When Adler’s brow furrowed, Neal forged ahead. “That’s right, I’m gay, Vincent.”

Adler flinched as if he’d been slapped in the face. He stared at Neal, chin trembling with barely repressed fury. “Like hell you are,” he finally managed to grind out between clenched teeth. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re using something you know I despise in order to try to get me to fire you. And then if I refuse to pay your unemployment benefits, you’ll sue me for discrimination.”

Neal gaped at him, stunned into silence. Of all of the possible reactions he’d expected, that one never even crossed his radar. Adler pursed his lips, looking satisfied with himself for figuring it out.

“I – that – _what_?” Neal spluttered, eyes wide. “You think I’m after your _money_?”

“Oh, Neal,” Adler chided. “Don’t kid yourself. It’s always been about my money. You and Ali were destitute before I came along. I don’t seem to remember you turning down my home, or my offer to send you to CIA, or the restaurant and the nearly rent-free apartment you’ve been taking advantage of ever since.” He ran a finger across his lips. “I knew this day would come, though. It always felt like you were hiding something, and I figured out pretty quickly that it had something to do with wanting to go out on your own, compete with me. Is that what this is about? You’ll use the money you manage to get out of me to open your own restaurant?” When Neal didn’t reply, his mouth working helplessly, Adler gave him a cocky half-smile. “Surprised I figured it out, hmm?”

It took a moment for Neal’s brain to come back online, but when it did, he looked into Adler’s eyes and shook his head. “You couldn’t be further from the truth,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’m not after your money. I resigned. I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore.” He slid his hand into his pocket and took out the pictures from the photo booth. “This is Peter Burke. You remember him from the other night, right? He’s my boyfriend, Vincent. We’ve been dating for months, since just after the fire. I –”

“You’re lying,” Adler interrupted, the fire back in his eyes.

“I love him,” Neal continued, raising his voice slightly. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m done – I’m done hiding who I am, and who I love. I’m done with you.”

Adler frowned, clearly thrown and confused. It was finally starting to get through to him, Neal realized. “You – you’re not gay. Kate…”

“Was a very close friend,” Neal supplied, not letting his guard down. He knew Adler would gather himself soon enough and go back on the offensive. “We loved each other, but not that way. Not the same way I love Peter.”

“It _was_ a date, the other night.” Adler sounded disgusted by the realization. “You and the homosexual from the fire department. Did he do this to you? Did he – did he brainwash you?”

“Brainwash me? Of course not. Peter’s been amazing. He loves me for who I really am, _everything_ I am – something you’d know nothing about.” Neal huffed out a bitter laugh. “Vincent, I’ve been attracted to men for as long as I’ve known what attraction was. I hid it because of you, because I didn’t want anything to happen to Mom.” Adler flinched at the mention of Neal’s mother. “She knew. I told her during my junior year at CIA.”

Adler pulled himself up to his full height, never taking his eyes off of Neal’s. He took a step back from the desk, putting space between them, and Neal could see him shaking. “You disgust me.”

“That works both ways.”

“You won’t leave all of this behind,” Adler insisted, getting louder with each word. “You need this. You are _nothing_ without me. You’re nothing! And you’ll _never_ work in this city again, not if I can help it.”

Neal swallowed, breathing through his nose as he tried to keep his composure. For as proud of himself as he was for coming out, there was still a part of him deep down that hurt when Adler called him nothing and looked at him like he was less than human. But then he became aware of the feel of something between his fingers – the photos of himself with Peter – and something in him shifted. In that moment, all he could think of was his love for Peter and how Peter made him feel. More than simply being loved, Peter made Neal feel valued, made him feel cherished.

“I don’t need any of this,” he said, gesturing around the room. “As long as I’m with Peter, I have everything I need. I was too screwed up to admit that the other night, but I’m saying it now. I _am_ gay, and I _am_ in love with Peter Burke. And until you can accept that, you can stay the fuck out of my life.”

“Get out!” Adler practically shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the door. “And get your things out of the apartment.”

“Already moved out.” It was Neal’s turn to be smug. “And I’ve already found another job. The only thing left is to go get my boyfriend back.” He pocketed the photos and headed for the door, only then noticing that Mozzie was standing in the doorway, holding his cell phone in one hand and an envelope in the other. At Neal’s curious look, Moz just shrugged and waved the envelope at Adler.

“I quit, too, by the way,” he said, trying – and failing – to toss it onto Adler’s desk from where he stood. He pointed an indifferent finger at the envelope on the floor. “My resignation. You might want to pick that up.”

Without waiting for a response, Mozzie took Neal’s arm and ushered him out the door, tucking his phone into his pocket. They could hear Adler calling after them, telling them that their lives and careers were over, but they kept walking until his ranting faded.

“What are you doing up here?” Neal whispered.

“Oh, yeah, like you think I’d miss that? Besides, I had to deliver my own resignation.” Mozzie gave him a knowing look as they stepped into the elevator. “Are you going right now?”

“Yeah,” Neal breathed, and as the doors closed, the gravity of what he’d just done finally set in. He took a couple of deep breaths as the relief fought with the nervousness. “Oh my god.”

“You did it.”

“I did it.” Neal plastered on a calm expression as the doors opened on the first floor, though he was anything but. He followed Mozzie back through a service corridor to one of the rear exits, trying to ignore the trembling in his hands. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Mozzie asked.

“No, I’ll be okay.” Neal looked away, still struggling, and Mozzie seemed to pick up on it right away.

“Neal, you did the right thing.”

“I – I know.” He blew out a long, shaky breath. “What if Peter…” He trailed off, glancing up at the emergency exit sign, then out the little window in the door. Anywhere but at Mozzie.

“He’ll take you back.” Mozzie clapped Neal on the shoulder, then punched in the alarm code and opened the exit door, practically shoving him out. “Now go, _mon frère_ , before the head monkey sends the dogs after you.” 

Reassured, if only slightly, Neal gave him a quick smile and took off. He hailed a cab, not having patience for the subway, and not wanting to walk for fear of losing his nerve on the way there. In his heart, he knew Mozzie was right, and that Peter would take him back. Neal knew he’d likely have to do more than just coming out to Adler to make up for the scene at the restaurant, but he hoped that what he’d just done would at least help to show Peter he was serious about their relationship.

The closer he got to the fire station, though, the more apprehensive he got. He was still a little shaken up from his encounter with Adler and leaving behind the only career he’d ever known, and he had no idea how Peter would react to him just showing up. He needed to regroup, to calm himself down and figure out just what he was going to do and say when he got there.

He asked the cabbie to let him out a block away. There was a coffee shop across the street from the station, and he slipped inside, buying a drink so he’d have an excuse to stay. He sat at one of the empty tables by the front window and looked over at the firehouse, watching for any sign of Peter as he tried to gather his courage.

After only a few minutes, he saw one of the bay doors roll halfway up, and there were signs of movement inside. Peter had told Neal that once the warmer weather arrived, they sometimes liked to open up the firehouse so that tourists could ask questions and take photos. It was good for public relations, especially in a post-9/11 world where so many people seemed to feel some sort of connection with the FDNY. Company 65, in particular, drew visitors because of their acceptance of all members and their roster of outcasts.

Jim Price emerged from the half-open bay door with a couple of folding chairs in each hand. As he started to set them up, he was joined by Jones and Peter. The three of them sat there, chatting with each other and greeting passers-by.

Seeing Peter made Neal’s heart beat faster, nearly took his breath away. He looked so beautiful, though Neal could tell even from across the street that his smile was more reserved than usual, as if there was something tamping down on his happiness. Neal knew he was the cause of that, and hoped maybe he could be the cure. He stood and got rid of his cup, but as he started out the door, a movement across the street caught his eye, made him stop to watch.

Mozzie.

As Neal watched from just inside the door of the coffee shop, his friend rushed up to Peter, mouth going and hands waving. His cell phone was in one of them, and he held it out to Peter, stabbing at it with his index finger. Peter stood up next to Mozzie and focused his attention on the screen.

“Mozzie, what the hell are you doing?” Neal muttered under his breath. While Peter seemed fascinated by whatever was on Mozzie’s phone, Mozzie’s eyes kept darting from the phone to the sidewalk around them, as if he was expecting to see someone – Neal. After taking one more deep, fortifying breath, Neal stepped out of the coffee shop. Mozzie’s frantic gaze found him almost immediately, and he nudged Peter and pointed.

Peter looked up, and Neal again felt his heart start to race as their eyes locked. He’d heard about time standing still, had even used the saying himself, but he’d never experienced it before then. Everything around them, between them, seemed to fade away, until Neal was hyper-focused on Peter – that familiar look of hope on his face, guarded but there.

Neal didn’t even realize he’d started to drift across the street until a horn blared, pulling him back to reality. He waited for a break in the traffic and jogged across the street, still not quite sure exactly what was going on and why Mozzie was there. 

Just as he was about to reach them, something brought him up short, startled him.

 _…with Peter, I have everything I need. I was too screwed up to admit that the other night, but I’m saying it now. I_ am _gay, and I_ am _in love with Peter Burke…_

His voice, coming from Mozzie’s cell phone. He could hear Adler’s angry reply, but it, too, faded into the background as Mozzie stepped away. Peter was watching him closely, his expression guarded.

“Neal?”

“I love you,” Neal blurted. All of the composure he’d been trying to gather since leaving Antiquity deserted him. His heart took over, and he could only hope that whatever came out of his mouth made some sort of sense. “I – Peter, I love you, and I’m sorry about the other night, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to make up for it. I swear to you, anything. I – I can’t lose you. Please.”

Over Peter’s shoulders, Neal could see Mozzie, Jones, and Price standing in the background. Mozzie looked proud of himself, Jones was grinning, and Price looked like he was about ten seconds from crying. Right in front of Neal, though, Peter still looked oddly impassive.

Neal knew he had to do something then and there, pull out all of the stops in front of Peter and everyone. He leaned in and gave Peter a quick kiss, but before Peter had a chance to respond to it, Neal pulled away. He held up a finger and looked around them, then reeled in the first stranger within reach, a short and stocky guy with more hair sticking above the neck of his t-shirt than he had on his head.

“Hey, hi,” Neal told the man, glancing between him and Peter. “My name’s Neal, and I’m gay. This is Peter, and I’m totally, insanely in love with him, and I’m damn proud of that.” He gave the man a resolute nod. “Just thought you should know.”

The man scrunched up his face as he listened to Neal’s speech, and when it was over, he offered a shrug. “Good for you, kid. Knock yourself out. I gotta get to work.” He gave them both a wave before heading off, muttering to himself.

Neal grinned at Peter, who was giving him an uncertain look, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what Neal was doing. There were hints of a smile flirting with the corners of Peter’s mouth, though, so Neal kept going. He pulled aside three more passers-by, giving them each a similar run-down of the situation. Finally, when the last one nearly hauled off and hit him, Neal gave up on that approach and threw his hands up in the air.

“I love this man,” he shouted, reaching for Peter’s hand and pulling him close. He brought his free hand up to cup Peter’s cheek and dropped his voice a little lower, though he still spoke loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear him. “Peter, I love you, and I’m not hiding anymore.”

“I can see that,” Peter said softly, his smile growing, though still reserved. 

“I – I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you, to get you back.”

Peter gave Neal’s fingers a squeeze, leading him under the bay door and into the firehouse. He wrapped his arms around Neal’s waist and brought him into an embrace, one that Neal had desperately missed.

“You never lost me,” he said, planting a soft kiss in front of Neal’s ear. 

Neal’s chest ached, both from the realization that Peter had forgiven him and from sheer relief. He held Peter even tighter, letting out a shaky breath against the side of his neck. “I hurt you the other night.”

“You did,” Peter admitted, his breath warm against Neal’s jaw. “Once I got over the shock, though, I think what hurt the most was thinking about you having to hide who you were all that time. I’ve gotten so used to being out that I sometimes forget how painful it is to have to keep that secret.”

Neal blinked away the tears that burned at the backs of his eyes because, yeah, that was Peter. That was the man Neal loved more deeply than he’d ever dared to love. It didn’t surprise him that Peter was more concerned about Neal’s feelings than his own, but it was still overwhelming to know that another human being cared about him – about the man he really was – so much.

“So we’re okay?” he whispered when he finally trusted himself to speak without breaking down.

“We’re more than okay,” Peter said, planting kisses at the corners of Neal’s mouth. “I love you. Do you really think I’d give up on you that easily?”

Relief flooded through Neal with such force that his knees buckled, and he stumbled against Peter. As the other man’s arms tightened around him again, Neal tried to force himself to breathe deeply and evenly.

“Whoa. Neal?” Peter guided him back to sit on a long wooden bench against the wall. “Easy, take it easy. We’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Neal leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder and smiled, already coming back to himself. “We are.”

\-------------

**EPILOGUE – LATE JUNE, TWO YEARS LATER**

Neal wasn’t at all surprised when he walked into Mozzie’s apartment on the fourth floor of the Ellington Mansion to find his friend sipping Martinis with his landlady – and their boss – June Ellington.

“Neal,” June said, offering him a smile, pleasant with just a hint of mischief. “You look lovely, as always.”

“Thank you, June.” Neal glanced down at the sharp gray suit he wore. It was a classic, modeled off of the ones June’s late husband, Byron, had worn back in his heyday. It wasn’t mandatory attire by any means, but as the executive chef of Byron’s Place, Neal had wanted to do something subtle to honor the memory of the restaurant’s namesake.

“On your way home to Peter?”

“I am,” Neal answered, a fond smile spreading across his face at the mention of his fiancé. “He’s wrapping up a little earlier today so we can head over to the Six-Five house and help them out with some last-minute things for the party.” The Heritage of Pride parade was just two days away, and Company 65 was holding a small get-together after the parade for some of the marchers and their families. 

“Has he adjusted to his new schedule yet?”

“Oh, he loves it. He’s got more responsibilities as a battalion chief, but he definitely doesn’t miss the night tours – and neither do I.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Mozzie interjected, holding up his glass. June did the same, and Neal couldn’t help chuckling at them.

“You two will drink to just about anything.”

“I resemble that remark,” Mozzie muttered, sipping at his Martini.

June shared a knowing look with him before turning her attention back to Neal. “Since you’re in such a good mood, am I to assume that everything went well today?”

“It did. The article that Alex wrote will run on the front page of the food section tomorrow, and El’s report will be on the evening news, and then again tomorrow morning and at noon.” In honor of pride week, Byron’s Place had been hosting special dinners to benefit various LGBT charities. With the week nearly over, both Alex and El were doing recap stories, as well as mentioning the restaurant’s plans for the upcoming weekend. Since Neal knew both women personally, June had been more than happy to let him represent Byron’s Place in the interviews.

“I must say, you’ve become quite the activist in the past two years.” She looked fondly up at him. “I remember what you were like back when we first met. You’ve come such a long way since then, and I’m very proud of you.”

Neal’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard before murmuring his thanks. He’d only been out of the closet a month when he first met June Ellington. El had done a story on Neal and Peter that was part update, part feel good story. She’d showed them marching in the pride parade – Neal’s first – and had interviewed them, including mentioning the fact that a world-class chef like Neal was jobless. Though they hadn’t mentioned Adler by name, it hadn’t taken long for the LGBT news websites to figure out the name of Neal’s homophobic former employer, and both his reputation and his bottom line had taken such a hit that he’d had to abandon the plans to rebuild Enigma.

June had gotten in touch with Neal the day after the interview aired. At the time, she was in the planning stages of opening a restaurant in memory of her late husband, and she’d offered him the executive chef’s position immediately. He’d accepted, of course, and June had been happy to agree to bringing Mozzie on as the sommelier. It hadn’t taken long for June to extend her generosity to living arrangements, offering her fourth floor apartment to Mozzie. By that time, though, Neal had been spending so many nights at Peter’s that they decided to just take the plunge and move in together. 

Nearly two years later, Neal counted June among his closest friends, and it still affected him deeply when she said she was proud of him. And she was right – he had come a very long way since those early days of having to remind himself that he no longer needed to hide his sexuality or his relationship with Peter.

As he’d gotten more comfortable with being his true self, Neal had started getting more involved with activism and charity work, two things that were very close to Peter’s heart. It had taken him a while to get past the years of conditioning and convince himself it was okay to be in love with a man and be open about their relationship. At first, he had a hard time doing it without a bit of liquid courage, but with Peter there for guidance, it didn’t take long until he was speaking to gay-straight alliance groups at schools and volunteering at charity events.

“I should get going,” he finally said, bending to give June a kiss on the cheek and squeezing Mozzie’s shoulder on the way by. 

“Give Peter our best,” June replied. “We’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.” Neal took a last look out the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the terrace before heading out the door. He still had moments when he couldn’t help stopping to take it all in, reminding himself how fortunate he and Mozzie had been over the past two years. Things could have gone very differently for them, but they hadn’t, and Neal was still extremely grateful for every moment of his new life. 

\-------------

Neal was fully expecting Dee Dee Phoenix to make a grand entrance at the parade line up spot, so he was stunned when it was Dan Picah who approached them instead, dressed in his class A uniform.

“Morning, boys,” he said cheerfully, tugging on the hem of his jacket as if to straighten it. Now that he was closer, Neal could see that Dan was wearing at least eyeliner and tinted lip gloss, and he’d ditched his glasses in favor of Dee Dee’s contacts. “Nice day for marching, huh? We’re lucky the humidity eased up.”

“We are,” Peter agreed, grinning as he shook Dan’s hand and gave him a thorough once-over. “You’re looking pretty, uh…departmental today.”

Dan gave him a blinding smile and nodded. “Yeah, Dee Dee’s sitting this one out. I figured it’s about time I showed up to support you guys myself this year.”

Peter’s expression softened, and Neal could tell the gesture meant a lot to him. “Thanks, Dan,” he said softly.

“Anything for you, Captain Sex Appeal.” Dan nudged Neal, who snorted out a laugh. “Although something tells me nothing’s going to top last year’s surprise.”

Neal wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and nuzzled at his neck, which was turning red as a result of Dan’s comment. “I know I loved last year’s surprise.”

Even a year later, it still gave him goosebumps, remembering how Peter dropped to one knee right in front of the reviewing stand and proposed. Neal had accepted, of course, and after they’d moved on from the reviewing stand, Peter had taken Neal into the crew cab of the fire engine so they could share a few quiet moments together, holding each other and gathering themselves after the emotional proposal.

“So did I.” Peter turned to give Neal a quick kiss and a small, private smile.

It wasn’t long until everyone arrived – Diana and Sara, Clinton and Isabelle, Jim and Tony, even the now-retired Reese Hughes and his wife. They socialized with the marchers from other departments, both fire and EMS personnel, until it was time to line up for the start of the parade.

While the previous year’s parade had been especially memorable, thanks to Peter’s proposal, Neal realized when it was all over that maybe this year’s parade was even better. The first time he’d marched, he’d been out less than a month and had still been getting comfortable in his own skin. The second time, he’d spent a good part of the parade wondering why Peter seemed off, only to find out in one of the most emotional moments of his life.

With this parade, though, Neal realized that things had come full circle. He was walking with his fiancé, who he loved more than anyone, and who loved him in return. He was surrounded by a beautiful extended ‘family’ of people that he loved and trusted. He had a home with Peter and a job he truly enjoyed. He was even becoming well enough known in the gay community that people stopped him along the parade route to pose for pictures.

The feeling carried him through the day and into the evening, hitting Neal especially hard at the Pride Train’s party. He stood off to the side, taking it all in and realizing that everyone in the room was a friend. Before the fire, he couldn’t have imagined that he’d have so many people supporting him when he came out, nor would he have predicted that he’d take up residence at the opposite end of the spectrum and become an activist. It was a little mind-boggling.

“Hey, handsome.” Peter’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and when his fiance’s arms snaked around his waist, Neal leaned back into him. “Penny for your thoughts.”

Neal smiled and pressed his cheek against Peter’s. “Just thinking about how fortunate I am.”

“How fortunate _we_ are.” Peter sighed contentedly, and Neal felt Peter’s face shift as he offered a smile of his own. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Yeah?” Neal fished, feeling a swell of affection in his chest.

“Yeah. You’ve come a long way since we met.” There was a hint of friendly teasing around the adoration in Peter’s voice. “You wore rainbow sunglasses today.” Neal chuckled, and Peter’s smile grew against his cheek. “And you’re wearing rainbow _shoes_.”

“Which you bought for me.” Neal nudged Peter’s foot with his own. Though he’d changed from the t-shirt and shorts he’d worn in the parade to a dark button-down and khakis, he’d kept the Nikes with the rainbow paint-splatter design.

“I knew you could pull them off better than anyone,” Peter said with a laugh. He snuggled even closer to Neal, and they let a comfortable silence fall between them, simply enjoying being together and watching their friends celebrate.

“Watching you two together will never get old.” El Mitchell walked up to them, holding out her phone so they could see the screen. She’d taken a photo of them, pressed together and grinning, and Neal instantly fell in love with it.

“Send that to us,” he said, his smile now directed at her. “I might have to frame that one, too.”

El messed with her phone, and Neal felt his own vibrate in his pocket. “Done. It kind of seems fitting, doesn’t it? I did take the first picture of you two together at the station, remember? God, that seems like ages ago.”

“I think you knew, even back then,” Peter told her, his arms tightening around Neal.

“I did have a feeling that there was something there,” she admitted.

Before they could delve deeper into the nostalgia, Dan Picah approached them, looking decidedly laid back. He’d forgone his usual wardrobe of dark colors and sweaters in favor of a blue and green plaid dress shirt with white pants.

“You fellows better not be stealing my fashion advisor.” Dan looped an arm around El’s shoulders, giving her a quick sidehug before backing away. El looked pleased with herself. “Hey, we’re about to start up the music. You two dancing tonight?”

“Of course,” Peter replied. “What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dan looked around, pointedly avoiding looking at El. “I’m hoping to find _someone_ willing to dance with a guy who might want to borrow her makeup from time to time.”

“Will you stop,” El said with a roll of her eyes, slapping him playfully in the chest. “Come on, Dan-the-Man. Let’s put on our red shoes and dance the blues.” She took Dan’s hand and practically dragged him over to where the others were gathering, oblivious to the impish look he shot Peter and Neal over his shoulder.

“Ooh, a Bowie reference,” they heard him say, his nasal tone carrying. “Now there’s a man who knows his way around a cosmetics bag…”

Peter finally unwrapped himself from around Neal, slipping his hand down Neal’s wrist to thread their fingers together. He looked like he was getting ready to say something, but before he could, a familiar guitar riff cut through the air, and a look of surprise spread over his face.

“They’re playing our song,” Neal said, leaning in to give Peter a quick kiss. Peter was smiling yet again when he pulled away, that private smile that belonged only to Neal. They walked hand-in-hand to the makeshift dancefloor, and when they found an empty space, Peter pulled Neal into his arms.

“Dance with me,” he said softly.

“Always.” Neal held him tightly, reveling in the comfortable warmth of Peter’s body against his own as they started swaying to the music. It was the song that had been playing when they’d shared their first dance together, and as Neal laid his head on Peter’s shoulder, his mind drifted back to those early days of their relationship.

Neal had never believed in fate before, and he still wasn’t sure that he did. But it still had the power to move him when he thought about how close he came to death that night at Enigma, the night he’d looked into Peter’s eyes and thought he’d seen an angel.

What could have very well been the last night of his life somehow became the first night of the rest of his life, a life in which he could be himself and be loved. And whether it was fate or coincidence, Neal was truly grateful for that second chance and everything that came with it.

*** 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://anodyneer.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Title is from [“Clear” by Stir](https://youtu.be/GTg17cgWy7o). The song Peter and Neal dance to - twice - is ["Dance With Me" by Orleans](https://youtu.be/iUor997xP14). There are at least three references in the last part of the epilogue (including the obvious) to ["Let's Dance" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/Af6jOq0dWqo).
> 
> Most of the firefighters in this story are members of WC’s Harvard Crew and appeared on the show. We all know [Blake](http://i.imgur.com/pZQA3NK.jpg); here are [Price](http://i.imgur.com/qTm1W4o.jpg), [Graham](http://i.imgur.com/ReiNFVW.jpg), and [Logan](http://i.imgur.com/NRD3DhM.jpg).
> 
> I stuck with the term "crossdresser" when referring to Dan because that's what he is. He isn't trans, and there are no gender identity issues. He's a happily straight guy who sometimes likes to dress up in women's clothes/makeup and go out as Dee Dee. :)


End file.
